


Winter Blues

by tamagoyaki



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, 宝石の国 - 市川春子 | Houseki no Kuni - Ichikawa Haruko
Genre: Alternate Universe(s), CairnPhos Bromance, Fibrodysplasia Ossificans Progressiva (FOP), Groundhog Day, Healing fics, M/M, Pokemon - Freeform, Red String of Fate, Reincarnation, happy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 01:59:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14274462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamagoyaki/pseuds/tamagoyaki
Summary: A collection of AU's in which Antarc meets Phos





	1. Lost Champion

**Author's Note:**

> *Disclaimer: As per always, the images used do not belong to me. Do kindly support their respective, linked artists if you liked them!*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > "I don't get it." Cairngorm deadpans. "I don't get it at all."  
>  _"We'll be fine!" Phosphophyllite laughed. "Afterall, everyone will be back together."_  
> 
> 
> Phosphophyllite has never regretted his words so much before.  
> Alternative, a tale of Hoenn's missing Champion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a past/present format work.

 

SETTING: MOON by ISHIKAWA HARUKO

 

_“Humans are far more lamentable than you would think, doomed to an eternal cycle of rise and fall.”_

_Petals spiral and dance in celebration of the broken ones’ long-awaited departure. The delighted creatures croon and laugh, swoon and cry, as they gather at the bridge and bow down before the machine, vanishing in soft whispery winds and fluttering flowers._

_Through the sea of unfamiliar faces, one peers out at them. A passive, unjudging gaze lingering on the fragments falling from their face._

_Fragments not unlike the crumbles of Kongo drops and rings hollowly, buried under gongs and harps. Phosphophyllite watches the one they called ‘Kongo Sensei’ crumble but work. They break, even as Aechmea steps into their vision, even as their cheeks are cradled with tender hands, even as gold is eased away with soft waxy fingerpads and more of their comrades crumble around them, lost, crying, broken in outrage._

_“You are submitting yourself to that fate.” Aechmea states, lips parting lost for a moment. His brows furrow, troubled. “How do you have such baseless confidence that you’ll escape this endless tunnel of repeats?”_

_Phosphophyllite parts their lips._

_Phosphophyllite snaps their teeth around a mouthful of cloth and wax._

_Aechmea’s eyes are widened with surprise as his limb waver and solidified._

_“Are you sure we ought to be the ones you’re worried about?”_

_Phosphophyllite offers a smile they learnt from Lapis. Aechmea retracts, gaze even on them._

_“Souls undeserving of judgement as you are?” They quote, a touch of fondness drenched in mockery._

_Aechmea is apathetic as he gazes at them. Worried. He’s worried. For them._

_“Ha!” Phosphophyllite laughs. The action shakes away more pieces. “We’ll be fine!” A consolation hidden as snideness. “Afterall –”_

_(“—Afterall, everyone will be back together.”)_

 

_[DI-DI-DI-DI-]_

A hand smashes into the beeping clock. The child rises and gazes blankly at his hands for a long moment. A hesitant prod at the arch of one hand makes green eyes widen.

……It’s soft.

 

* * *

 

SETTING: [VIRIDIAN FOREST](http://meganlangan.com/fanart/), [TEMPORARY LIVING QUARTERS](https://wallpapertag.com/pokemon-forest-background)

 

“I don’t get it.” Kango ~~Cairngorm~~ deadpans. “I don’t get it at all.”

“Mh-hm! Well, Kan-chan’s an idiot, so I’m not surprised~!” Phosphophyllite smoothly ducks the tool that’s aimed at his head. Behind him, Mightyena’s more than happy to snatch the wrench off the air, huffing at his master’s rival.

“What’s got your panties in a twist now?” Phosphophyllite teases, beaming at the ticked mark on the other. “Oh?! Pissed that I beat you again in today’s battle?”

Phosphophyllite laughs when Cairngorm picks him up by the collar.

“I’ll fricking emasculate you someday.” The teen swore.

Sceptile places a warning hand on the shoulder of its trainer. Blaziken steps up, flames flaring dangerously around its wrists.

It’s with one grudging look that Cairngorm releases him.

Still, Phosphophyllite’s lips are pulled into a smile when Gallade cushions his landing. His partner swipes his armoured arm across Phosphophyllite’s cheek, rubbing dirt away and masking the exasperated look he’s subtly sent. What can he say? It’s fun, to irritate Cairngorm as per always. (Just like old times.)

Cairngorm sighs, loud and incredulous.

Phosphophyllite watches curiously as the teen looks around them, feet kicking on the ground.

“I don’t get it.” Cairngorm repeats, annoyed. “Title… Money… Fame… You got all of them when you beat me and Steven to Wallace. So many people expected great things from you. And then, you up and tossed all of them aside to come to a place like this to – what? Set up a pokemon nursery?” Cairngorm’s brows are more knitted than Sensei’s ever were.

“What exactly is going on in that mind of yours?” Cairngorm sighs.

Phosphophyllite has heard those words numerous times. From the media. From the pokemon association. From Wallace. Few people know the answer, and Cairngorm – even as incredulous as he pretends to be – is one of them.

“Liiiike I saaaaid… I did all those just because I like pokemon! There’s nothing more to it!” Phosphophyllite pouts.

“I totally believe that.” Phosphophyllite can’t tell if sincerity is hidden behind snideness, but he wants to believe it is. Cairngorm facepalms. Sighs. He crouches down and picks up a hammer. “Whatever. You better get your ass back to work. I’d hate to spend another night in the middle of nowhere.”

“That’s where you’re supposed to say you’re happy to go anywhere with me, right?”

“In your dreams.”

“How meeeeaan, Kan-chan…” How very much like him, even if he doesn’t remember.

Lost in their bickering, the duo half-worked half-conversed, oblivious to the radio playing a distance away. The announcer’s voice cracks and breaks, lifting with every new additional background noise clamouring into the mike. Gallade passes by it, fiddling awkwardly with its bulky hands. How had his trainer turn this thing off again?

_“—Aaaaand he’s done it! Ango Fuyuhikoo of Pallet Town’s beaten the Orange League —zzz”_

The sound flickers off.

 

* * *

 

SETTING: [HOME](https://www.hongkiat.com/blog/ww-paint-art-wallpapers/), [POKEMON NURSERY](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/336784878358859811/)

 

Being a human is weird. After the initial stages of disorientation, it hadn’t taken long for the remains of Lapis in him to tide his panic down with murmured reasonings. Phosphophyllite ~~Fong~~ had then gazed upon the world with a different set of eyes, taking in everything.

(“Fong! Feed the pups for me, will ya?” Suzume ~~Sphene~~ cries over the sound of mewls. Gems don’t remember, noted.)

(“Arc.” Says the creature with fur _– Animal? No, mammal? –_ with a curt tone, chest puffed up slightly as a black puff of smoke leaves its muzzle.

Phosphophyllite gives it a strange look till a bunch of – p-pups? – race by, snarling, snapping, and promptly have their cute behinds burnt by a feral snap of the ‘Arc’ creature’s mouth.

Phosphophyllite takes in the ember with bulging eyes and a slackened jaw.

Super powered animals? Noted.)

( _It would appear that every single one of these human processes are heavily dependent on these creatures. Basic necessities are procured through their partners. Pokemon battles appears to be of equal importance as diplomacy. It’s evident that the path with most options and highest success rate is –_

Oh just simplify it now, will you, Lapis?!

Pokemon are fun, strong, adorable creatures like him and can help him find the others? Check.)

But it’s not like everything went easy since he woke.

 

A whimper.

A scratch against the door.

A boy, lying limp on his bed.

Sometimes, Phosphophyllite doesn’t get it – this heavy dull feeling in the centre of his chest. It’s a feeling that’s at right at home; it’s not different from what he felt back as a gem. But never has it disabled him as much as it does here. The tears… won’t come. Not like gold did. (Which Kongo Sensei had so kindly wiped away for him. Kongo Sensei, who he betrayed --) They really should get moving. Fong is a child adopted by the Mossdeep pokemon nursery due to a lack of hands on deck. They need to feed the poochyenas, groom the swablus, detoxify the sevipers… … … … … …

Blue eyes peer out blankly at the shifting dust particles hit by the sun.

 ~~Phosphophyllite~~ Fong curls up on himself.

Just a little… He wonders… would it be bad to skip a couple hours of work?

(The faint whispery voice of Lapis begins to rattle off a list of pros and cons. Their voice is as loud as the distant snaps of mightyenas.)

Another whimper.

Another scratch against the door.

 ~~Phosphophyllite Fong (???)~~ lifts his head slowly, peering at the wood.

_“Pika pi! Pika chu chu!”_

A soft bark replies the concerned query of a friend. More whimpers resound, this time accompanied by soft padding against the door and a miserable _“Chaaaa~~~”_

Phosphophyllite sighs.

It’s like making Diamond sad. But that would make him Bort, and _ooooh_ , there’s no way he’d have that.

Phosphophyllite rises on soft feet and trots over to the door. He turns the knob (a mechanism few in the nursery is able to use, including the helper Mr Mime and Kadabras) and is assaulted by soulful teary eyes blinking up at him.

Poochyena – the timid one out of the newly arrived pack – makes a whine, scuttling forward to rub against his feet. Pikachu, newly born but an affectionate one, has its ears lowered, patting his ankle twice as if to comfort.

It’s amazing – how open these pokemon are and (how much they seek to comfort, unlike back in the wake of Antarcticite, with every gem giving every gem privacy and only a sinking, growing feeling of _rot_ ).

“I am… fine…” Phosphophyllite smiles down weakly at them. The smile is not Lapis’.

Pikachu shoots him a distinctly dubious look.

Poochyena does not look up but presses himself closer to him.

“Oh, you guys are so troublesome. What else _do_ you want me to tell you?” He sasses, folding his arms.

Another moment of silence. Another moment of doubt.

Phosphophyllite caves like the brittle gem he was and hunches down to pick them up for a snuggle.

They’re warm. ~~(The way he wasn’t.)~~

 

* * *

 

SETTING: [KANTO: POKEMON NURSERY](http://www.vabusinessservicescorp.us/messy-living-room/messy-living-room-luxury-anime-room-kitchen-inside-the-building-kotatsu-scenic-sunshine/)

 

“Come back.” Says the child to the teen.

“No way.”

Phosphophyllite pats a charmander on the head. The lizard closes its eyes in bliss.

“Come _back_ , I said!”

The child whips out his sword, short dark locks fluttering around his head.

Phosphophyllite gives the edge of the wooden bouken (practice sword) a deadpanned look, glancing at his rival. Kango shrugs, mouthing a smug ‘You deserve it’.

Eh.

Phosphophyllite slumps.

Each and everything about moving is so troublesome.

“As the reigning champion of Hoenn, you’re the one every child of our generation seeks to defeat! And yet… and yet you just gave up your position after a short two years – even though no one managed to beat you! There are limits to irresponsibility!”

Phosphophyllite yawns, slumping back. He tears open the mandarine orange, passing one piece to the drooling child in his hands. Charmander is adorable munching on it.

“Even though you said that, all you really want is just another fight, isn’t it?” Phosphophyllite would know, staring down the child blankly.

He’s sixteen, the boy’s – what? Eleven? Twelve? But the fact is that anyone who’s got the very unfortunate luck of being reincarnated as Bortz will be a battle mania. This is the one thing he knows for sure.

And look. The boy’s twitching, as if caught.

“That’s no good, you know?” It’s fun – _really fun_ – to be mocking Bortz now where the other had used to threaten to slice him up. “Children shouldn’t cross continents to battle a battle-hardened warrior like me-”

“Who now?” Cairngorm mutters below his breath.

“-Besides, Steve-chan’s the current reigning champion, and poor Kan-chan’s the other less renowned Champion. It’d be bad to disrespect them and come over to me instead.” Phosphophyllite’s not one who should be preaching responsibility. Cairngorm’s pointed, bemused gaze clearly shows what he thinks.

“I…I’ve already beat them both.”

“Oh?” Phosphophyllite straightens. “That’s impressive.”

“All that’s left is you!” Bortz points.

“And what next?”

“Eh.”

“What do you plan to do after beating me?”

Phosphophyllite tosses an orange in Cairngorm’s direction.

It’s caught, with a close-eyed sigh.

“Since you’ve beaten Steve-chan, that means you’re already bound by the association’s rules. Gotta stay in the pokemon industry, yadda yadda yadda and what not, or you’re gonna get your pokemon robbed (confiscated). You’re eleven, so you’ve gotta go for a scholarship or an internship. Have you got your future planned out?” He casts a dubious look.

Bortz looks stricken. No doubt, the battle mania hasn’t thought about it.

“I-I’m here to battle! Not for future counselling!” Bortz says, miffed.

“Eh~ But I don’t wanna battle a brat with no sense of direction~” Phosphophyllite slumps over the kotetsu. “It’s such a drag~~~”

“Then get back to work.” Cairngorm deadpans.

“Well, that’s true.” Phosphophyllite gets up.

Outside, he can already see the few volunteers he’s got struggling to keep up with the customers. At some point of time, this nursery had begun functioning as a place for abandoned pokemon, breeding centre, and adoption centre all in one. Word’s also gotten out that a STRONG trainer’s caring for the creatures, so their condition is top notch. Not that he actually helps train them for anything sides survival anyways. (:P)

“How can you refuse for such a reason-!”

“What ‘such a reason’? It’s plenty important!” Phosphophyllite huffs. He folds his arms. “Planning for the future is imperative in this line of field! Heck, it’s important in all aspects of our lives!”

He’d know, having gone to the moon without planning… betraying Sensei, while planning (but never planning for the right things)… and then… making everyone become humans…without planning. It really was a stupid decision. Reckless and unthoughtful. Even though Padparadscha warned him to proceed cautiously too.

...Even now, Phosphophyllite still doesn’t know if he regrets it. Doesn’t know if the others, like Kango, will hate him if they remember. That’s why………

“Come back when you’ve matured a bit more, brat!” Phosphophyllite sticks his tongue out at the kid.

(It would have been nice if somebody did this to him back then. If Sensei did it.)

“Childish.” Cairngorm scoffs.

But Cairngorm doesn’t say more. Because he understands.

 

“PFFTHAHAHA!” Phosphophyllite keels over, holding his stomach as he laughs. “Somebody, please take a picture of that! This kid’s face…!”

He beats the floor gleefully. Blaziken brushes up to him, soot-covered, but shrugs easily at the fight.

Bortz stares, bewildered, infuriated. But the kid withdraws his pokemon and dashes for the nursery’s healing machine.

“One more time!” He demands. No doubt, it’ll be till he wins.

“Ah, sorry. I’ve got an important business transaction today. Gotta go get funds for my nursery and all.” Phosphophyllite deadpans, straightening under the amused looks of his pokemon and adjusting the many pinned ribbons on Milotic’s scarf absently.

Gallade covers his mouth demurely. Mightyena snorts an encouragement in the boy’s direction while Pikachu waves with a cute _‘Pika!’_. 

“Excuse me.”

“WHA.” Bortz’s jaw drops.

“I’ll see you next time, Bortz-chan!”

“My name’s Botan-! Wait-! Come back ‘ere, _FONG!_ ”

So ~~Bortz~~ Botan will be the next reigning champion alongside Steve-chan, huh… Well, it figures since fighting’s all that battle mania’s good for!

 

* * *

 

SETTING: [HOENN: POKEMON NURSERY](https://wallhere.com/en/wallpaper/797748)

 

The first thing Pikachu saw when he lifted his head from that cage of an egg was blue. Blue and green, of the most beautiful shade.

His master was what the humans called a ‘child’ back then. (Something like a pichu before evolution.) Tiny, spindly, with the most petulant pout on his lips and eyes wide as they bore down at him in awe, his master was the first person Pikachu saw when he arrived. To date, Pikachu still couldn’t be more relieved he was the first pokemon his master bred too. Who knows if Master would have kept him if he wasn’t the first?

Fong kept him. Played with him. Fed him.

Fong slept by his side when Pikachu was scarred by his first battle. Held his paw when he got his shots. Patted him on the head when he won his first battle.

Then one day, that all came to an end.

“…male and seven months old. 12lbs. The known moves are electric terrain, thunder shock, and toxic…”

Pikachu peers up at Fong, who looks sad for whatever reason.

 _‘Pikaa?’_ He pats Fong’s ankle. No need to be sad. Pikachu’s here for him!

But Fong only pursues his lips, looking away.

 _‘Pika pi? Pika?’_ Every attempt at following the turns of head and meeting his master’s gaze fails.

Pikachu hunches forward, confused, hurt. Why isn’t his master cheering up? Did Pikachu do something wrong?

Then, with the signing of a paper, Pikachu is passed over to another child.

This one is a strange one. White hair, with dark eyes boring down at him, narrowed. (Pikachu did not flinch under his gaze.) He’s dressed strangely too, in pressed dark fabric so different from the comforting rosy pink apron Fong dons. There’s also something like a choker around his neck. (A tie.) Isn’t that a liability in battle?

All those thoughts are cut off the moment Pikachu’s settled in his arms, and the boy is turning away.

 _‘Pika pi! PIKA!’_ Pikachu flails, calling for his master. Help! Why isn’t the Master helping?! D…Did he do something wrong?!

Pikachu spends the next three days in the care of the new child, wondering. He barely ate. Barely slept. (Because Master should be the one sitting that bowl down. Master should be there to hold his paw when he can’t sleep! Master... Master should be here--)--What did he do wrong that made Master not want him anymore? It’s true, the other pokemon at Home were all going to leave at some point for new trainers. But Pikachu thought he had a special connection with Master. That Master was his trainer! …or should be… What if he grows stronger? What if he plays dress up more? Will the master want him then?

The boy with the white hair (like Roserades) only pursued his lips and left him be.

The next day, Pikachu is brought back into a familiar place.

Fong is there, startled when Pikachu leaps into his arms.

_‘Pika pi!’_

_I’m home, Master!_

Master cradles him in his grip, the squeeze in the fur on his back showing the longing Fong doesn’t voice.

Pikachu never left Master’s side from there on.

 

_(This is alternatively the meeting of the two rivals known as Fong and Kango.)_

 

There he is, clad in clothes so similar to Aechmea’s, unable to recall a single bit of their past.

There he is, young and human, standing in the middle of the nursery.

Phosphophyllite doesn’t want to feel, but somehow, he does.

He wishes that Cairngorm will turn to look at him and remember. He wishes that Cairngorm will hit him over the head and break him, for doing something reckless again – for giving everyone up for the sake of recovering everyone. He wishes – that now, finally, he can tell Cairngorm the truth. That he didn’t reach out to save Ghost back then. That he doesn’t deserve the camaraderie the two of them have built, from the torn pieces of what he had with Ghost (built on lies). That Cairngorm will _look_ at him and… call him _‘Phosphophyllite’—_

His breaths come hitched and short.

Was breathing always such a painful task again?

His eyes sting, with ~~gold?~~  unshed moisture.

Phosphophyllite wishes and _wishes_ and _wishes_ , even if he knows it’ll never come true.

Down below, Pikachu tries to catch his eyes.

Phosphophyllite is unable to meet it.

How long more till he finds someone who remembers?

How much more before he’s finally able to break down before someone?

It’s all too much. Phosphophyllite can’t stand it.

(Why don’t humans break like they did? Why are humans so, so _warm_ \--?)

Pikachu screams as he’s carried away.

Phosphophyllite feels dead on the inside.

He feels and feels and feels so much, it feels as if everything is muddled up all in one, drowning away the sound of Pikachu’s cries, drowning away happy memories, washing away the sad ones brought up when slanted dark eyes meet his, face apathetic without recognition.

“I’ll take care of this one.” Cairngorm ~~uh what’s his name here?~~  promised, wrapping arms around the pokemon. He was awfully serious for a six year old. Figures, for the son of the ‘important figure’ Sphene said was coming today. Then as if wary of hurting him, Cairngorm pursued his lips and added. “Don’t worry.”

Hahaha… Was his feelings that obvious? But Phosphophyllite isn’t worrying… He’s…

The next day, he’s still on his bed again, watching dust particles dance in the sun’s beam.

A whimper and a whine sound outside his door.

Poochyena is curled up, asleep, when Phosphophyllite opens his door.

Pikachu isn’t there.

He’ll no longer be there.

(Like Cairngorm and so many others.)

That’s the reality of what happened when he gave them away.

And suddenly, his vision is blurry. His eyes sting, warm and painful. The feeling inside his chest swells even as he tries to shove it back, but the harder he tried, the more it hurt and before he knew it - 

Poochyena wakes to falling tears, thinking it as rain. Poochyena lifts its head to the master, who’s crouched over him, arms wrapped around his knees helplessly, eyes squeezed tight as tears rain down profusely. Poochyena whines and rises on all four paws, pulling itself higher by sitting front paws on Fong’s knees and licking away the tears away.

What ‘I’ll be alright’? What ‘Everyone will be back together’? Who is everyone again?

Here, in this world, with their scattered memories, everyone save for Phosphophyllite is a stranger. No one will remember. No one will be together. No one will be alright for sure.

Phosphophyllite was a fool for thinking it’d be alright without knowing for sure.

 

Days later, Cairngorm returns. In his arms is Pikachu who leaps at Phosphophyllite as if he’s been given the world. Phosphophyllite cradles the pokemon, fingers trembling.

In this world where they’re all strangers, he got to treasure the ones that love him.

He can’t let the ones he loves slip out of his fingers again.

“…That one was so troublesome, refusing to drink or eat without you.” Cairngorm sighs, lacing a hand through his white locks. He’s adorable, short and young as he is. “I think I’d be better off without him. Don’t wanna have blood on my hands due to his stubbornness.”

Phosphophyllite hesitates.

(He doesn’t remember. _It doesn’t matter._ It’ll only hurt more --)

He pulls his lips into a teasing (shaky) smile.

“A good trainer’s supposed to be able to charm all pokemon though. Are you admitting your weakness, Kan-chan~?”  

Cairngorm’s eyes are wide for an instance, stunned by the show of rebellion from a child his age, regardless of his status.

Then the next, that painfully familiar scowl’s back on his face, a snap ready on lips that curl up at the edges.

 

_(And so, the pair’s rivalry begun.)_

 

* * *

 

Image Credits: ~~Phosphophyllite and Cairngorm~~  [Fong and Kango](https://mobile.twitter.com/monotoorac) by [そ ね 現パロ垢](https://twitter.com/monotoorac?lang=en)

SETTING: KANTO: POKEMON NURSERY

 

There are talks that day of a rather strong trainer passing through the nearest town – Viridian. Something about having a couple of badges and winning against the orange league and what not?

Phosphophyllite doesn’t pay attention, simply pressing the money into Gallade’s palm and sending the psychic, fire, and dark type of his team off to get some groceries (Gallade, Blaziken, and Mightyena respectively).

Cairngorm somehow returns with them, the troop looking sheepish as can be.

“I caught these guys fighting the rockets out in town.”

Cairngorm sits a bag down by the entrance.

“They were helping out some teen our age – Ango Fuyuhiko, or something like that. So, what? After a pokemon nursery, now you’re lending out your pokemon to strangers? What new service are you calling it?”

Phosphophyllite tilts his head at his nervous pokemon.

“Who knows… I wasn’t involved in it at all.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“It’s true!” It hurts… It hurts to be doubted by Cairngorm… ah, but then again, that’s the usual.

Phosphophyllite grips Blaziken’s hand gently, turning it over to pat down the fire chicken for any injuries.

There is none.

Seems like this Ango Fuyuhiko… whoever he is… mashes well enough with his pokemon even in what sounds like a multi-battle.

Phosphophyllite smiles up at the rugged pokemon, who dips his head to further be on eye level with him.

“Did you have fun out there?” Phosphophyllite whispers secretively. Can’t have Cairngorm being all prissy again. “Was this Ango strong?”

Blaziken tilts his head, recalling the battle. A slow smile comes to his face, eyes feral as he meets his trainer’s gaze. The pokemon nods.

 

* * *

 

 SETTING: HOENN: [PETALBURG WOODS](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/429530883188395989/), [RUSTBORO](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/555490935278761042/), [SEAFLOOR CAVERN](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/423690277426625243/), [ROUTE 113](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/550916966899387572/),  [TOWN](https://www.slideshare.net/veronikka_carmela/town-facilities-pokemon-town), [MOUNTAINS](https://www.wallpaperup.com/997962/Pokemon_Grovyle_Scenery_Afternoon_Day.html) by [BelleDeesse](https://www.wallpaperup.com/member/profile/1115)

 

It would be the story of a legend, Blaziken had been convinced – back when he was still just another fiery Torchic sitting in its ball, awaiting his trainer. Whoever he’s going with, it has got to be a legend.

He’s not exactly wrong, even if he was less than impressed when he was summoned by a noisy child with a headful of fake bluish-green and eyes of similar colour.

The two pokemon with him – a timid Poochyena and a Pikachu clearly with a trainer-complex – were even less impressive, sticking close to their trainer and acting domesticated.

 _This_ is supposed to be their trainer? _These_ are supposed to be the ones he calls seniors?

In those days, Torchic had huffed and puffed anger, strutting wherever his claws take him. He’s not about to let the human guide him.

And the human child didn’t, following with a smile plastered over his face.

“I don’t really have a goal right now. Just maybe want to find some people, here and there.” The human child had laughed at their campfire that second night. “Not that I know where they are, so it doesn’t matter to me which direction we take.”

Torchic had huffed and puffed and went to sleep. His trainer is far too unmotivated! Why isn’t he aiming for the league?!

He falls asleep huddled in the roots of a tree. He wakes, with a blanket covered over him.

The human child had not particularly been astounded when he was guided to the first gym. He relented, with a bundle of protests meant for show.

That first battle though – it shook Torchic to the core. Torchic could still remember every instruction shot off by the human child. How well the human child had guided him – even though they lost in the end, because Torchic was too weak.

Then in the aftermath, the human child had requested Torchic to be healed regardless of his disinvolvement in the battles. And Torchic had watched as Poochyena and Pikachu are summoned, battling in their own ways regardless of type diadvantages.

And Torchic had seethed, because of how clearly strong they are.

More training had been demanded from the human.

More gym badges had been won.

Torchic eventually becomes a Combusken, then a Blaziken.

Somewhere along the line, they gain new comrades.

Feebas, who evolved into Milotic. Ralts, who evolved into Kirlia, then Gallade. And Swablu, who grew into Altaria.

The human let them all decide the paths they want to take. Empowered them, with the skills he had learnt from his time at a pokemon nursery, according to Pikachu and Mightyena.

Pikachu, Milotic, and Altaria took interest in contests. They outdone themselves and became the first amongst few to win all five contests of the region.

Gallade, Mightyena, and Blaziken were allowed to participate in the league. With the other three following their steps, the trio guided their team to the championship. (Except that’s not really true. Blaziken knows now, whenever he shifts his gaze away from the fire types to a bickering trainer and his rival.)

At some point of time, they won. At some point of time, Blaziken reaches the pinnacle and finally rouses, eyes no longer affixed to an empty goal.

One day, on yet another night where Fong skips out on his duties in favour of the road, Blaziken looked upon his trainer and _realized._

Since when did that tiny midget of those days grow to reach his shoulders?

How had this tiny, thin shrub of a human guided them all to the championship?

Why had he let them choose their own paths? Why had he gone along with every one of their decisions?

Blaziken gazed upon Milotic whose six ribbons and one extra are pinned proudly to her blue scarf. He sees Altaria making herself comfortable, cottonish wings pressed over their master. He sees Pikachu, who had dumped all his ribbons after the announcer presented him as a contest winner for the nth time instead of league champion’s pokemon. Mightyena growls in his sleep, curled protectively around his trainer, teeth instinctively loose where Fong had pressed a hand between it. And Gallade, still awake, arms folded and poised to look over them in their sleep, casts a look at him.

 _‘What’s wrong?’_ A telepathic pulse is sent.

Blaziken ignores him.

All of this. All of their current forms. All of their strength, pride, and everything they are now, are all due to this tiny weak human.

Fong had let them have everything. Gave them the worlds they wanted. And now, because he’s the league champion, he’s bounded to the league by law, forced to endure paperwork after paperwork so much that he’d rather sleep on dirt. Come to think of it… have they ever shown their appreciation for him? Given him anything in the least that he’d actually want?

 _“I’m searching for someone.”_ He remembers Fong have said. Multiple times, in fact.

When the person themselves actually appeared, Fong is saddened, every time. No recognition ever flickers. Eventually, by the time Feebas joined, Fong had stopped asking entirely, choosing instead to go along with them. He’d watched them with a smile on his face that was just a bit delighted, just a bit troubled, for whatever reason. And he never protested all the way.

 _‘…I think.’_ Blaziken starts, huffing as he meets Gallade’s gaze. _‘I think it’s about time we do something for Trainer.’_

Something for Fong.

For the person who gave them their current world… for the person who guided them…

For Trainer Fong… it’s about time for them to end the legend.

 

_(The mirror remains fogged for those now standing in another’s place.)_

__

_“It’s because I love pokemon!”_

That’s a line not exactly true.

In the beginning anyways, in those days where the journey had just begun and Phosphophyllite was just desperately searching for those who remember.

(None did.)

It’s just…well. Every single time he had been let down by a simple _‘Who’re you?’_ , he had always been brought back up by his partners.

Mightyena – sensitive as he is – had always been well-attuned to darkness and sends Kirlia to him when that happen. Kirlia had entertained him with psychic powers, levitating him, and Feebas had always ended up flopping onto the ground in her excitement. Cue panic and a sheepish Feebas.

At some point, Phosphophyllite did begin to love pokemon. _His_ pokemon, to be more exact.

 _“Have no doubt that I love every one of you.”_ Sensei had said with a mournful face back there.

Phosphophyllite wonders if the feeling is like this, like having Mightyena lay his large head on his lap and like trailing palms through the dark groomed fur. Like surrounding yourself with joy, even if you’re not getting the things you want, but technically receiving joy from watching the others get theirs.

 _‘PIKA PIKA!’_ Pikachu had cheered and leapt and spun when he received the final master ribbon.

 _“Hey, do another for the audience, will you?”_ Phosphophyllite had laughed and tossed Pikachu again when the mouse landed perfect in his arms. Pikachu had relented and tossed in sparkling effects in mid-air. Phosphophyllite had been unapologetic about accidentally shocking the screens.

 _‘Hyeeeooo’_ Milotic had cried as she clung onto her final moments of consciousness, wincing at the wounds she’s sustained beyond capacity.

 _“Ice beam, Milo”_ Lapis slash Phosphophyllite had ordered with a countenance that hardly betrays his panic, the dragon type writhing in Milotic’s grasp as the water type turns, head directed point blank at the dragon’s neck.

Milotic had awoken dazedly after being healed, but the wide smile on her lips brings one to Phosphophyllite’s own, especially with how all the others are recovering. Blaziken bolsters his own delight in the form of a tsundere arm-folding.

 _"Don’t bombard me with your overwhelming love! How can I even respond to that?!”_ Phosphophyllite remembers pulling his hair back there.

In retrospect, it would have been easy, now that he knows what it’s like.

All he had to do was to stay by Sensei’s side. To just… be there… and be happy. That would have been enough to reciprocate that love of his.

And instead, he went to the moon. Hurt Sensei more than before.

Fong the human regrets so many of the things Phosphophyllite the gem did, but…

In this world, where the past cannot be returned to, there is nothing to do but to bear the consequences.

 _‘PIKA PIKA!’_ Pikachu cries out to him one day.

Phosphophyllite blinks and yelps when he’s picked off his feet by his official starter pokemon, Blaziken’s gaze gruff and feral as can be and – is that his travelling bag hanging on Blaziken’s arm? Pikachu leaps up to Blaziken’s shoulder. Mightyena shakes his sleep away, growling at imaginary monsters. Altaria bellows as she swoops away from the roof, away from a barrage of - …are those… flamethrowers and dragon beams?!

“W-What’s happening…” Phosphophyllite musters a weak query, already having a sinking feeling at his stomach.

Blaziken scoffs, sets the pile of paperwork that he’s so _painstakingly taking the time to do_ on FIRE and Phosphophyllite makes a sound to show off how much he wants to die now, having to repeat the process all over again.

Phosphophyllite falls limp in the pokemon’s grasp, tipping his head back to gaze with a tear in his eye.

“Did I do something to step on your  tail again?” He grunts.

Blaziken snorts and Gallade appears.

Cue teleportation.

Next thing he knows, they’re on a run from the Mirage Island, hitting the road without an aim in mind.

 

* * *

 

MATCH UP: [ALOLAN NINETALES](https://alonzoconcetta.deviantart.com/art/Alolan-Ninetales-632977165) VS [MEGA GARDEVOIR](http://preoprix.tumblr.com/post/124611797611/mega-gardevoir-used-dazzling-gleam-show-em-the)

SETTING: KANTO, POKEMON NURSERY

 

Phosphophyllite is glued to the television from the first moment it’s on. Not because it’s the first day they finally got a source of entertainment. Not because it’s the Kanto league championship. But because of the person that’s there, fighting.

_“-And here, we see another hint of Trainer Ango’s wits, when he gets his alola ninetales to make use of the battlefield-”_

Ango Fuyuhiko.

Fuyuhiko Ango.

What does that even matter?

Because for all that Phosphophyllite cares, it’s Antarcticite on that screen before him, standing at a height that Phosphophyllite’s sliiiightly envious of, with that same sharp look to him as he gazes unwaveringly at the battlefield, freezing cold voice directing his pokemon around.

“He’s good.” Cairngorm observes, huddled under the same kotetsu as he is.

“All I see is a bunch of battle freaks inflicting more damages to be healed.” A nursery volunteer regular – ~~Rutile~~ Ruka – sighs, folding her arms. She scuttles over to feed a newborn meowth, stepping over the other pokemon with eyes locked on the screen. “Come on now, you guys, at least help out here a little, won’t you? Boss?”

“Busy now. Later.” Phosphophyllite chirps.

“Whatever.” Ruka shakes her head as she leaves.

“Every single one of his pokemon so far were trained to go against those with type advantage against them.” Cairngorm notes. “His snorlax, especially. It has the moves to go against every single one of his opponents. This one’s a winner, no doubt. I wonder why he entered the league so late.”

Phosphophyllite wonders too, till the end of the show comes in Antarcticite’s victory against Lance. 

_“-If we may have a moment, what motivated you to join the league at such a late age?”_

Phosphophyllite buries a frown behind his sweater-clothed arms. Cairngorm scoffs, too.

That’s pretty much the media’s way of trying to get more coverage on Ango Fuyuhiko – since he’s now the reigning champion, 17, and with a face that would make the posters if he and the league give the green light. Learning about his motivation – if it’s the right one – would certainly draw more attention from the female populace and put greater pressure and demand on the league to agree.

Antarcticite takes a moment to wipe the sweat from his face, bangs rumpled and eyes flickering impassively to the camera. The teen (is he really their age?) lifts his head – ooooh, Phosphophyllite can just hear all the fangirls screaming from the stadium – and after a second, he narrows his eyes.

_“I’m searching for someone from a time beyond winter.”_

What?

Phosphophyllite stiffens, brows furrowing.

Cairngorm pauses.

_“Someone who’d understand when I say I’m Antarcticite.”_

And suddenly, it seems like the peace he’s taken so long to find is once again broken.

 

* * *

 

Kanto is nice because nobody recognized him.

It’s harder, to find people who recognized him as Phosphophyllite, when they saw him as Champion Fong.

Phosphophyllite is no longer searching out those he had sinned, but even so… there’s still a small twinge whenever the hope of them remembering comes up.

 

* * *

 

SETTING: [PHOS' ROOM](https://www.animeherald.com/2016/05/24/new-orange-anime-visuals-show-off-landscapes/orange-scenery-visual-naho-room-001-20160524/) by [Telecom Animation Film](https://myanimelist.net/anime/producer/94/Telecom_Animation_Film)

 

News of Ango Fuyuhiko kept up against his will. Media reports are wholly focused on the new champion of the Kanto region, most skipping over his oh-so-mysterious response when asked what his motivation was. Antarcticite doesn’t fail to remind though, but even that is skipped in favour of the young bachelor’s degrees, achievements, accomplishments. Apparently, Team Rocket was also defeated by him.

Phosphophyllite doesn’t want to know, of the person beyond the screen who had been more in one winter.

He thought he’d never find someone who remembers.

He thought that, even as he hoped.

But now that he found them… now that it’s _Antarc_ who remembers… everything seems distorted.

Phosphophyllite locks himself in his room, staring at wavering dust particles.

Cairngorm breaks his window and leaps right in.

“What the-! Who on earth even does something so stupid like that?! I’m going to report you, Kan-chan!” Phosphophyllite yelps, backing away till his back meets the wall.

It’s then that Mightyena dark pulsed the door down, snarling at the intruder… only to sweatdrop and whine in apology, realizing it’s Cairngorm.

Phosphophyllite buries his face in his palms.

His partner and rival are sooo embarrassing.

“Locking yourself in for nearly three days is _not_ normal.” Cairngorm shrugs. “And let’s just see if they dare arrest Hoenn’s leader’s son. We’ll do a regional ban of supplies to Kanto.”

“…That’s totally not dark, Kan-chan.” Phosphophyllite shrinks back. “Nice utilisation of your papa’s boy status in fact.”

“Shut it.” Cairngorm grabs him by his collar. “We’re going back to Hoenn.” Eh. Eh?! “That’s what’s been bothering you since the Kanto League Championship, right?”

No. No. No. NO. No it hasn’t!

…But then again…if he says that it’s not, Cairngorm would no doubt try to dig deeper… Phosphophyllite hangs his head in defeat.

“Aye.” He takes the lesser of the two devils.

 

* * *

 

 SETTING: KANTO: [Re:Starting](https://www.pinterest.fr/pin/563020390888783665/), [Battling](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/347340189982897010/), [Mount Silver](https://archive.nyafuu.org/vp/thread/31081057/), [This World](https://gamerant.com/pokemon-ultra-sun-and-moon-trailer-outfits/)

 

Phosphophyllite thought he bid goodbye to his past.

He thought he had moved on, when he stopped asking about people who might remember him and decided to just take what joy he could by watching his pokemon have fun. He thought he might be able to give up.

But in the end, giving up is just so hard… Phosphophyllite has to acknowledge that part of him that will never stop hoping that someone remembers.

(Like what Aechmea said, perhaps humanity _is_ an eternity of repeating hope and despair.)

Pallet Town is a quiet town filled with serene beauty.

Their first moment of solace from the chasing elite four had been after they crossed the border – Gallade using his psychic abilities for all the wrong purposes and Mightyena being far darker than ever when coercing the security dark types. Oh, and Altaria being gorgeous.

There, their first destination had been Pallet Town.

“It’s a quiet place.” Phosphophyllite had smiled at the boy Gallade masked himself as. “It’s like home.”

Without thinking, his fingers trace Pikachu and Mightyena’s pokeballs.

He wonders how Sphene is doing, caring for all the pokemon alone.

Perhaps he’s getting outraged right about now? Trying to divert the elite four for him? Phosphophyllite giggles at the thought. It seems like what Sphene would do.

With hood tugged low over his head, Phosphophyllite travelled Kanto.

He passed by gym leaders.

(Brock. Misty. Giovanni.)

He crossed rivers and lands.

(Lavender. Fuchsia. …Cinnabar.)

He found those who were once precious to him.

(“T-Thank you very much for your patronage!” Calls out the awkward girl of fifteen, bowing with clumsy limbs too long for her age. Phosphophyllite hesitates to call out the name that threatens to fall from his lips, instead offering a slanted smile at the girl and her friend.

“That’s a nice hairstyle you’ve got!” He praises, smiling at ~~Jade~~ ’s flush. “Thanks for your service!” The doors swerve as he leaves.)

(“Jackpot~! Jackpot~!” Sings the middle-age woman with duo-coloured hair as she skips by, armful of coins. “Mor’s gonna be soooo envious of me again~!”

Phosphophyllite watches her go, ever cheerful as always. A slow smile crawls onto his lips. It’s nice, to know that she’s as carefree as ever.)

(“Plusle!” “Minus!” The twins glare at him, cradling their pokemon to their chests. Phosphophyllite pulls his hood low to obscure his identity from the two Hoennians. “We won’t forget this!” They echo, dashing away.)

(“W-What’re you looking at?!” ~~Cinnabar~~ reaches for a pokeball, glaring as he releases a gyarados. He leaps on and surfs away at top speed, even before Phosphophyllite could call out to him.

…And there’s that.)

Phosphophyllite travels and travels and travels.

Eventually, he reached the top of the peak of the world, overlooking towns and Kanto and Johto – and in the distance, _Hoenn._

_Look at how small you are from here._

Mount Silver is cold but familiar. It’s a place more like home for him than he dares think of it as.

Even now, Phosphophyllite’s still tired. He’s still wondering – is it the right decision to have given up everybody for everybody? Will they be angry if they ever remember? Will _Antarc_ be mad if he’s alive right now at this instance? That he sacrificed Sensei for him?

In the end, perhaps, it doesn’t matter.

The things he’s done wrong… the things that can’t be taken back… The guilt and the feelings… They are his just desserts for having hurt those people.

_[What ‘We’ll be fine’? What ‘Everyone will be together’? ]_

But just perhaps… truly, everyone will be fine, in their own way. Everyone is strong afterall. Phosphophyllite has seen them with his own eyes as Phosphophyllite. He had admired them stronger gems, envied them for their strength, even as everyone lived and broke and crumpled under the weight of everything at some point. They may not be together in this world… They may not remember… But maybe, they’ll be alright, in their own way.

_Because they were all so blinding to him._

As for these memories… well… maybe they are just meant to be… for the gem who was at the centre of it all, to see the things he brought about.

Phosphophyllite rises to his feet. He pulls his scarf over his nose to shield from the biting cold.

“Well, now, what should I do…?”

Hoenn's missing Champion stretches at the world’s peak overlooking everyone. He smiles, at the shiver of the warm balls on his belt, the dear friends who carried him this far and away in hopes that he’d find the things he’s looking for.

“…I guess I’ll just live………”

Live and live and even when it kills him, to just keep living.

At the end of it, if he ever sees Aechmea again, he wants to tell him that regardless of whether he escaped the cycle, regardless of the pain, and memories, and _everything_ , he was able to be happy.

Because that must be what it means to be a human, able to feel the warmth through chilling cold.

 

* * *

 

 SETTING: [SINNOH: 'TEA PARTY'](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/517773288391388603/)

 

Gone.

Missing.

Vanished.

News of the disappearance of the reigning champion of Kanto reaches him while he’s off in Sinnoh in a champions-only meeting.

Phosphophyllite’s irritation up and vanishes on him, even when the three other Hoenn Champions make a joke regarding Hoenn which only the locals would understand. …Or then again, maybe he’s not too _un_ -irritated afterall?

“Wait! Replay back to a minute ago!” Phosphophyllite’s chair screeches as he stands.

Steven aims him a lifted brow. Cynthia blinks but obliges.

_“-The last sighting was near his hometown, Pallet Town. Champion Ango’s absence at the Champions’ gathering has been noted, and the cross-continental association had not recorded his appearance at the borders-”_

The words blur and pound in his head.

Gone – Mi—ssing—Gone—Vani— _“So that Sensei won’t be lonely, look after winter for me.”_

An expired voice too high to be the low one from the Kanto League Championship. Words too long faded to be so clear in his mind.

Phosphophyllite’s racing off before he knows it, hands groping for Altaria even as his three Hoenn friends scream after him. Cairngorm is capable. Steven is capable too. Those two can run the reigns without him.

The bite of the air is chilling. The night is dark and visibility is at an all time low.

Altaria is making concerned screeches.

Her cries stop at Phosphophyllite’s tightening grip on her clouds.

She hastens her speed.

Where will Antarcticite be if it is him?

Where had Phosphophyllite gone when he vanished from the league?

Home?

No.

Can one even call that a home if one’s not capable of talking there?

Lapis.

Help.

No.

No.

It’s been years since he used Lapis. The faded image of a ghost that now has her own body.

Her name is Ran of the Sinnoh Region. She is the girlfriend of Gou ~~Ghost~~ of Hoenn. They’re happy. They don’t remember. He can’t. She can’t – But _Antarc –_

_You knew Antarcticite better than I did._

Antarcticite.

Antarc.

Ango Fuyuhiko.

  

.

.

.

 

Mount Silver.

 

 

Phosphophyllite guides Altaria in that direction, regardless of the chill stifling him from the inside.

It’s hard to breathe.

So, _so_ hard to breathe.

But more than it being hard… Phosphophyllite doesn’t want to see Antarcticite hurting because he’s too cowardly to pull himself up and go meet him.

_Because low grade gems like us have nothing but our courage, no?_

Because Antarcticite’s not alone in this world, even if he might think he is.

 

* * *

 

 Image Credits:  ~~Ango Fuyuhiko~~ [Antarcticite](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/764767580446909603/) by [そ ね 現パロ垢](https://twitter.com/monotoorac?lang=en)

SETTING: MOUNT SILVER

 

Phosphophyllite leaps off a panicking Altaria and falls towards the distant grey hue in white. Antarcticite only had time to look up before he’s squashed beneath his weight and both tumble into snow.

Muffled words are squashed under his glomp.

Phosphophyllite pulls himself up briefly to peer down at wide blue eyes – _a shade so familiar_ – and then, he throws himself back down, hugging the other male.

Antarcticite seems disgruntled when he reaches up a gloved palm and pats him on the shoulder.

“…Phos…?” A low voice, like the one on TV.

It sends warmth through him in a way that combats the cold.

Phosphophyllite wonders if the temperature on mount silver is enough to freeze his tears.

“…No…way.”

A groan.

A cough.

Phosphophyllite hurriedly pulls himself from the tangle of limbs. Antarcticite’s grip on his forearm prevents him from moving further.

His eyes are wide, boring up at him.

“…This can’t be coincidence.” The knit in his brow is lighter than Cairngorm’s. His voice is softer, sharper, and more rounded around the icy edges. “You remember?”

And suddenly, Phosphophyllite feels like crying all over again.

How long has he been waiting for that question?

How long… has he been waiting for someone who remembers?

Even though Antarcticite had been waiting too… even though he himself was the one who gave up on finding someone who remembers…

Phosphophyllite sniffles.

Blood escapes, and Antarcticite’s eyes are blown wide.

 

“Ah wemember…” Phosphophyllite later repeats his answer, a cloth pressed to his nose stained red. The impact and cold had been an uncomfortable combination.

Deep in the cave, Antarcticite is cooking water. The teen himself though, sinks into the sleeping bag Phosphophyllite’s put on.

Awkward silence descends.

It’s then that Phosphophyllite hangs his head.

Well, hanging his head is pretty much the point of the cloth here, till the bleeding stops.

“So many things happened since you were stolen, Antarc…”

So many things to say. Where to begin? None of them… None of them were good, in the least.

Phosphophyllite squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m so sorry… This and everything’s my fault…”

The tears stain his cheeks. He must be an unadorable sight now.

“I’m so sorry…”

Antarcticite parts his lips. He seems to fumble for words.

…Antarc? That unshakeable senior Phosphophyllite remembers from too long ago? _Him?_ Fumbling?

“…Calm down.” Antarcticite finally settles for, resting shifting blue eyes on him, as if still unable to believe that he’s here. “Tell me what happened. One, by one.”

Something shivering inside stops.

Phosphophyllite’s hand would tremble if not for years of training with pokeball tossing.

As the world silences around them, he slowly inhales.

And gradually, with quiet words, he spills the past to the present.

 

The guilt is unbearable.

Only now when he’s spilled everything did Phosphophyllite realize how horrid it all is.

He desecrated Antarc’s last wish. Hurt Sensei intentionally. Dumped winter on a partner he gained through corrupted means. Hurt and made others get stolen. He’s _such a horrid person_.

How can he bear to face Antarcticite?

But even then, Antarcticite breathes.

Even then, Antarcticite is before his eyes.

His warmth sinks into him through the clothes he wears. His chest heaves. And he moves.

“But I don’t regret it now.” Phosphophyllite blurts out his realization, bluish-green orbs widening at _how much of a monster he is_ to be feeling this way. “I don’t regret it… because you’re alive right now.”

Now, Antarcticite’s eyes are widening too. He looks lost, heartbroken. Phosphophyllite lowers his face to his palms with a frosty breath, continuing.

“And everyone else is too. They seemed alright when I found them. Cinnabar – too – He’s capable of growing close to pokemon now. They’re alright.”

“…It’s not acceptable to hurt others for your own selfish whims, Phos.” Antarc’s tone is gentle but reproaching.

Somehow, the use of his actual name only hurts more.

“…Sorry.” Phosphophyllite lowers his head.

“It’s fine.” A gloved hand rests atop his head. Antarcticite meets his gaze unflinchingly. “Because I’m partially to blame too, for how you became.”

Antarcticite rises to his feet slowly. His boots crunch against rock as he gets a mug of hot coffee and stands at the cave’s entrance.

Outside, an everpresent hail is present, unlike that sunny morning.

“I found Sensei years back, on Orange Islands, before I remembered. He doesn’t remember a thing.” Antarcticite states.

Even so, when Phosphophyllite rises with borrowed warm clothes, blue eyes are cast straight ahead, unwavering, if only slightly hurt.

“But even so… He was happy. So very happy, when I saw him. He taught the pokemon meditation. The pokemon cared for him, like we did. Perhaps… unbeknownst to us, all along, he had been weighed down too, by the meaning of his existence. Perhaps it really was for the better that you did what you did… for his sake, and ours. ...Whatever the case was…”

Antarcticite exhales shakily. “We’ll never know.”

Antarcticite settles down by his side again, a tentative smile on his thin lips as he offers his mug to Phosphophyllite. The Hoenn Champion hesitantly takes it from the Kanto Champion.

“For now, all we can do as the ones who remember is to look over them.” Antarcticite says. “And even if it’s only a little, I think we could try to repent by living the best that we can.”

“…Together…?” Phosphophyllite breathes, lost.

“Together.” Antarcticite affirms. And the world seems a little less cold, the warmth of the mug sinking into his hands, melting him and everything.

Phosphophyllite falls asleep with warmth on his back, so akin to the warmth of his pokemon.

Antarcticite is alive, soft and breathing gently.

Tomorrow, when they wake, they will climb down the mountain together. Maybe they’ll stay in contact. Maybe Antarcticite will come to his sanctuary. Maybe Cairngorm will go on a rant on them. No, change that to definitely.

For now, sleeping in this small cot with the touch of human on his back, Phosphophyllite’s thinks they’ll be fine regardless of what life throws at them in the future. So long as they’ve got somebody to understand them, the way they’ve got now. That’s all that matters.


	2. Winter Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > The first time Phosphophyllite is abducted, Antarcticite broke.  
> The second time, Antarcticite hoped.  
> After the third, Antarcticite lost hope.
> 
> Alternatively, Antarcticite’s forced to relive the same winter. Every winter brings with it a slightly different Phosphophyllite and a slightly different end to the season. However, there’s always something endearing in each loop. 

 

` (Image Credit: [Lambdadelta](https://www.zerochan.net/user/lambdadelta)` `) `

 

 

 

I.

 

The first time it happens, it’s at the White Hills.

It had been just another day.

Just another routine.

In the world of white that was theirs, Antarcticite had been racing down an ice floe quickly. Mechanically, without much consideration for anything else. Phosphophyllite – the green pebble who had joined him for the first time – is working hard at his task (however minute his results are). All Antarcticite had to focus on was the completion of his task. That was the case. That was supposed to be the case.

“ _ANTARC!_ ”

Out of nowhere comes a sudden scream.

He had lifted his head, an exasperated ‘What now?’ on his lips. But green closes in before he could react. A yelp hadn’t even had time to escape his lips before he’s thrown to the ground, sent spinning and cracking and spiralling across the ice. Antarcticite spluttered on a mouthful of snow. He lifted his head, prepared to scowl and demand an explanation, except –

Except… Phosphophyllite had shattered.

“…no way…”

The everpresent smile sits on the lunarians’ lips as they pick up pieces of Phosphophyllite, lifting an arm pleasantly to the skies. (He failed he failed he failed – somebody shattered under his care – someone broke whilst he was being careless, when his duty is to protect everyone – Sensei will be so _sad_ -) Phosphophyllite had pushed him aside to save him, from the arrows that were on the ground.

Something broke on the inside.

Antarcticite’s grip on his scabbard shudders as he rises to his feet.

“Return him!” He screams, rushing forward on heeled shoes. “Return Phosphophyllite!”

The smiling lunarians cock their heads in question.

A wave of arrows comes flying down on him – How had he not noticed them over the sound of ice floes? Why hadn’t he noticed them faster?! Why didn’t Phosphophyllite just inform him instead of – _instead of pushing him aside_ – Antarcticite races sideways, avoiding the barrage. Need to save Phosphophyllite. His priority is to kill the lunarians. Make the fight last till Sensei arrives, if the circumstances are set against them.

And the odds are stacked highly against them now.

Antarcticite races forward, trying to eliminate the ones taking Phosphophyllite.

But the arrows are. Just. Not. Faltering.

Every attempt at running towards Phosphophyllite is ruined by a wave of arrows. The lunarians above divide their forces, focusing on creating a barrier of arrows and breaking him.

Antarcticite bites back a curse. Their behaviour must be due to Phosphophyllite’s colour – not for the first time, Antarcticite wishes Phosphophyllite is of a different colour, just so he wouldn’t attract lunarians like flies.

Down below, the collecting lunarians speed up their pace.

No.

No.

NonononoNONO _NO_ -

Antarcticite leaps up to the cloud, wincing at an arrow that scrapes his face.

He needs to protect Phosphophyllite. He needs to eliminate them, before they finish collecting Phosphophyllite. He needs to – What-?

Antarcticite shatters under the heliodor arrows that were pointed at him, catching him off guard.

In his last moments awake, off to the edge of his peripheral vision, he sees the last piece of phosphophyllite dropped into the basket. He sees Sensei, approaching them in the distance, as fast as he possibly could. Ah… Sensei’s not going to make it at this rate… Phosphophyllite’s going to --

 

“-Where is he?!” Antarcticite jolts the moment he returns, ice caking his pieces.

For a moment, Sensei had been quiet. It’s a long moment, where something drops in the inside, and Antarcticite _realizes_. Then, Sensei closes his eyes. Rests a gloved hand on his head. Pulls him in, and the embrace lacked every bit of the warmth Antarcticite had loved – maybe he’s the one in wrong; he just can’t feel it, through the chilling cold that spiders out deep within.

“…Phosphophyllite was stolen.” Sensei gently informs him.

Antarcticite cracks at the confirmation.

 

II.

 

Antarcticite rises from his bed – more a casket, really, to hold his remains over seasons besides winter.

For a moment, while sleepiness lingers, and reality is slow to dawn upon him, he merely sat, staring down at his translucent hands.

It’s these hands that failed to save Phosphophyllite.

It’s these hands, that had been so useless at doing what they’re meant to – to protect the others.

“Tsk.” It’s hard to bite back self-hatred, when Phosphophyllite is the first gem he’s ever lost.

How long has it been since that wintery day? 365 and more? Antarcticite spent 67 of it awake, stewing in his own regrets. Sensei had been kind as ever, giving him his space even though his worry is clear. But Antarcticite hadn’t yet been able to tell Sensei that he’ll be fine. He can’t bring himself to, not when it’d be a lie, and he’s still visiting Phosphophyllite’s room far too many times, flipping through Rutile’s medical record of Phosphophyllite over and over again in his free time.

Antarcticite had gone to sleep before spring came.

He couldn’t stand it – he was a coward enough to run away from breaking the news to the others; to let them know of what he’s done to that supposedly cowardly Phosphophyllite – that him needing saving made Phosphophyllite b-break in his stead. It’s…pathetic.

_(“We low hardness gems have nothing if not our courage.”)_

Who was he to preach about that to Phosphophyllite?

 

“-Mm. Your condition seems to be flawless, as per usual. No scratches of any sorts. Your inclusions are fascinating, as always.” Rutile repeats as he lifts his hands off Antarcticite, allowing the winter gem to slide his gloves back. “The report of the changes in lunarians’ activity is in Alex’s usual place, so just take a look at it in your free time.” A yawn breaks the medic’s words. “We’ll leave winter in your hands…”

“…”

“…What’s wrong?” Rutile cocks his head.

“…It’s nothing.” Antarcticite averts his gaze uncomfortably. Was he not going to mention Phosphophyllite’s loss? Blame Antarcticite, for being clumsy and letting Phosphophyllite get stolen?

Rutile utters one last questioning hum before trotting off to join the others in the hibernation room.

The steps resound below him – click-clacking of heels against quartz and the crunching of snow beneath shoes – as he makes a bee trail to a certain gem’s room that’s by now, achingly familiar. Phosphophyllite’s room is the standard. A cot, a window, some hooks for the placement of his things. The only details that detracts from the usual is the unmade mess on his bed, the few clumsily made, unusable handicrafts from his duty-rotating days, and a piece of ornamental phosphophyllite (himself), seated on his window sill.

Everything’s just as Antarcticite remembers.

He wonders if it’s Sensei’s consideration, to not have cleaned out the room yet.

From behind, a trail of loud steps rings out as a distant gem closes in.

Antarcticite furrows his brows.

Who’s awake now-?

The thought abruptly ends off with a harsh bump that throws him into the ground, face meeting quartz. The crack resounding through his head hardly distracts him from the shock at the _sound_ – the yelp of a too familiar voice he’s heard in his dreams, followed by the clapping of playful hands, and the sheepishly apologetic –

“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t know you were there, Antarc! What’re you doing in my room anyways?”

The sleepiness of cracking wishes it could make him stay on the floor.

Antarcticite lifts his head. He peers up at the gem – _Phosphophyllite. He’s… He’s still here…?_ – and he wonders if this is a dream. If there was a miracle somehow, at some point of the three hundred plus days he’s been debilitated, that made the lunarians decide to return Phosphophyllite, whole and young, and untraumatized and - …and just… _here._

“…uh…Senior? You’re kinda staring at me weirdly.” Phosphophyllite smiles, scratching the side of his face.

Antarcticite rises to his feet. Phosphophyllite squeaks.

“Please don’t break me for that!” He jerks away.

He needs to confirm this.

Antarcticite reaches out. He pats Phosphophyllite down, eyes widening more at every bit of hardness he feels, clinking he hears, powder that rubs off on his fingers – and Phosphophyllite whimpers a little, confused. He’s really here. Phosphophyllite’s real, and it’s not a dream. That’s… that’s… a relief. Phosphophyllite yelps at the wrap of arms around him, confused ‘ah?!’, ‘eh?’, ‘urrgh-erm? Eh?’ spilling from his lips.

“You’re here.” Antarcticite sighs, stepping back from the hug.

Phosphophyllite wraps his arms around himself, looking violated.

“Of course I am? Why wouldn’t I be?” Phosphophyllite looks at him weird. “Or rather, senior, did you always have a crush on cute, weetle me? Since when were we ever this close?” He narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“Eh?” Antarcticite stops. “You don’t remember last winter?”

It can’t be… an alteration of memories? It’s true they were never close enough to hug – and in retrospect, Antarcticite feels the embarrassment of the action now settling in – but…he would at least expect to Phosphophyllite to understand his relief, after he’s been returned from the moon.

“Last winter?” Phosphophyllite looks blank. “What’re you saying? I spent the last winter asleep!”

The words hit home, even as denial struggles to make its way out. Suddenly, Rutile’s behaviour comes to mind. The medic had said the usual line, so he hadn’t had the least suspicion, but… what if… what if the one that’s wrong is not them, but him?

“…Phosphophyllite.”

“Call me Phos at least!” Phosphophyllite pouts.

“Why’re you awake?” Antarcticite questions. A chill goes down his spine, ironic all things considered.

Oblivious to Antarcticite’s welling panic, Phosphophyllite – who’s still dressed in his hibernation clothes, whose uniform had been hang up by the door, now that Antarcticite’s finally taken notice –  frowns and lowers his head. His legs are still agate, Antarcticite notices.

“I messed up a bit…when I was put on patrols this year.” Phosphophyllite admits. “It was so frustrating… I couldn’t go to sleep.”

The reason’s the same.

_The reason’s the same._

It’s… Antarcticite doesn’t know.

Between the blankness that overwhelms his mind and the green pebble that’s still before him, still _here_ and _not on the moon_ – and he’s gone back in time, he doesn’t know what to feel. It’s not as if he’s attached to a reality where Phosphophyllite was stolen (even if he wonders how Sensei is doing over there. Even if he wonders if that time still exists, now that things have been reverted), but – _but_ – the realization that he could fix this just – blows his mind away.

Antarcticite still can protect Phosphophyllite.

Phosphophyllite’s not gone. He’s not gone yet. It’s…still possible to fix it.

Parting his lips, Antarcticite hesitates. Should he respect the other gem’s wishes again and risk it? (Days spent with the green pebble around flashes.) It’ll be fine if he keeps a more careful eye on Phos, right?

With that thought in mind, Antarcticite repeats the same words.

“Very well. I’ll let you take on one of my tasks--”

 

\--Days with Phosphophyllite carries on in the same sequence as before. Introducing Phosphophyllite to his duties go just as well – he makes sure Phosphophyllite isn’t where the cracks of the ice floes would be this time. As snow mounts and the tasks on hand increases, the days blur together, with Antarcticite on the edge, always keeping an eye out. This time, if those lunarians appear, he’d take them down before they could with them. This time, he’ll protect Phosphophyllite --

 

“-What are you doing?” Antarcticite questions upon seeing Phosphophyllite, all crouched down and hunched over something.

Wide eyes turn to him.

“Look at this!” Phosphophyllite cheers. “It’s a flower!”

“I can see that.” Its white petals sway lightly in the air.

“…You know, I kiiiinda expected a stronger reaction from you. Isn’t this supposed to be the first flower you’ve seen?” Phosphophyllite deadpans.

“The diamonds have always been fond of flowers.” Diamond and Yellow, in particular. “I’ve had to water their plants over winter a couple of centuries before. They never did last over winter.” It was an unproductive use of time anyways. Antarcticite at least relates to Bortz in how futile their efforts were, keeping ‘beautiful little kids’ alive.

“Hmph! You’re no fun, Senior! All duty and no fun.” Phosphophyllite sticks his tongue out.

“Do you want to be broken?” Antarcticite questions absently.

Phosphophyllite huffs and leans in to prod the flower.

“You don’t get it at all, do you? Poor, pitiful Antarc!” Phosphophyllite turns his head exaggeratedly. Antarcticite taps the scabbard of his sword as a warning. Phosphophyllite flinches and hurriedly explained himself.

“It’s how it’s blooming in winter that’s part of its charm!” He claims. “Just look! It’s struggling to bloom even though it’s in the midst of winter and there’s hardly any sun. In a way, the way it’s struggling against all odds stacked against it, doesn’t it sort of remind you of us?” Phosphophyllite’s smile is soft as he peers down at the petals.

…Ah, Antarcticite gets it.

But they are gems, not flowers. They are not doomed to be lost this winter, even if the lunarians will definitely come. Antarcticite peers down at Phosphophyllite’s indulgent face and resolves himself. He will definitely protect this gem, this time for sure.

“Let’s go. There are more productive things we should be doing.”

“Aww, you’re such a moodkiller, Antarc! And here I thought I finally said something wise-”

 

“- _ANTARC!_ ” A blood curling screech.

Antarcticite grabs onto him before Phosphophyllite’s dragged off by the ruby threads wrapped around his body. Phosphophyllite looks scared. His brows are furrowed, eyes wide with fear, but even then, concern flickers when Antarcticite digs his heels in and his ankle cracks a bit from the pressure.

“How do you always mess up this badly…-?” Antarcticite grits out as he reaches for his sword. Need to cut the threads. Need to save Phosphophyllite. _This time for sure._

“Sorry. I – I thought I could help – I couldn’t just hide and watch – ” Spluttered apologies ring out in his ears.

Antarcticite reaches forward, pulls Phosphophyllite closer to him so he could reach his sword around him, slice the threads off – except, arrows are shot in the next instance. Before his widened eyes, Phosphophyllite shatters, still in his hold. Head, torso, and legs separated, Phosphophyllite’s eyes are blank. Antarcticite hisses when the threads wrapped around Phosphophyllite’s lower half drags that part away. He clings, to head and torso, when the treads try to steal those away from him as well.

“Not again…”

In his grip, Phosphophyllite cracks, unable to withstand the tug-a-war between lunarian and Antarcticite.

Antarcticite hisses when arrows are aimed at him. He hurriedly slices the threads, gathering Phosphophyllite’s head and torso in his grip and dodging the wave of aerial attacks. He needs to protect Phosphophyllite. Losing those legs are fine. But he needs to… he needs to get rid of those lunarians, before he loses out! To do that…

“Tsk!”

Antarcticite drops both parts of Phosphophyllite behind a rock before launching himself at the lunarians.

Above, the ruby hooks writhe in ready to latch onto their target. He slices them the moment they approach. Then, regardless of coming attacks, he throws his blade at the central lunarian. If he eliminates that one, even if he breaks, it will be alright. Even if the arrows come up at him…

Antarcticite coughs as he drags himself out of the sea, tugging Phosphophyllite’s legs by the edge of his clothes. Antarcticite’s legs have been reduced to stumps. His blade has disappeared into the depths of the ocean. He gave it up; it had taken much effort just to salvage Phosphophyllite’s legs. But it’ll be alright, because they’re safe now. They should be safe from more lunari --

Antarcticite can’t process it, for a moment.

He’d taken one down. Those ruby threads should be gone, shouldn’t they? Yet…

_Why are they here?!_

Antarcticite pants as he tossed the legs to the ground, dashing to grab the pieces.

“NO!” He screams when Phosphophyllite’s head was dragged off before he reached it.

Bringing his teeth together with a crack, he tugs Phosphophyllite’s torso close to him. Head is gone… is there still a viable way to revive Phosphophyllite? No – focus on the task for now – he needs to salvage as much of Phos as possible till Sensei – _CLINK_

Wh…at…?

Antarcticite shakes, not in pain of the torso smacking his face as it slips out of his grip, but at the broken hands before him, greenish-blue glinting at him – and he feels so utterly betrayed, because Phosphophyllite’s the one who had given up on him before he could even try doing more – because Phosphophyllite’s _phosphophyllite_ – because of these arms, that hadn’t been strong enough to last under the pressure.

Antarcticite screams as those hands shake in his grip. As Phosphophyllite’s torso is stolen away, and he’s unable to do a single thing without his blade.

The lunarians disappear in a flash of black.

 

III.

 

A miracle won’t happen twice.

That’s what Antarcticite tries to convince himself of as he races to Phosphophyllite’s room.

Snow falls gently outside the school.

Sleepy murmurs are sounding out as the gems are guided to the hibernation room. (Antarcticite takes care to avoid their path. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up that Phosphophyllite is there. He doesn’t want, to see Phosphophyllite. He doesn’t know what he’ll do this time.)

His heels skid as he arrives at the room.

There’s a uniform hanging on the wall beside the door.

Antarcticite takes a couple of steps back, and he sinks deeply into Phosphophyllite’s cot.

He doesn’t know, whether to be relieved or be sad. Phosphophyllite’s not stolen still. That’s good, but… what if he can’t protect Phosphophyllite again this time? What if he has to see Phosphophyllite stolen right before his eyes again? He doesn’t… he doesn’t think he has the capability to not break down. Not this time.

Glancing down at his hands, he saw a flash of the past (future?) – of phosphophyllite hands in his, broken.

If only those hands were stronger…

“Eh, Antarc? What’re you doing in my room?” Phosphophyllite peeks in.

Antarcticite peers up at him, lost, worn, confused.

“…What’s wrong? The cat got your tongue?” Phosphophyllite smiles. Antarcticite feels like something’s stuck in him, a bubble of emotions he’s unable to discern. He remembers – _(Flowers. Like us. Phosphophyllite)_ – but that’s a different Phosphophyllite of a different time. “…Did something happen?” Phosphophyllite asks, sensing the mood for once. “I’m not much help, but I can at least listen.” He perches himself on his chair.

“………It’s nothing.”

“Come on now, that’s obviously not nothing!”

“Why are you still awake, Phos?” The question takes more effort to ask this time round. “You, who’s the first to sleep and last to wake each time.” Even that line is lacking the snide it held the first time round.

“Nice job switching the subject, Antarc.” Phosphophyllite deadpans. He reaches up to the ribbon in his hair, pulling it off. Phosphophyllite locks tumble down either side of his face.

“…I was just too frustrated to sleep.” He lays his chin on the chair’s backrest. “Since I was put on patrols, and I made a mistake.” The phosphophyllite on the window sill glints. “…that nobody scolded me for it… makes me so much more frustrated.”

…doesn’t it?

The first time round, when he heard this, he had sympathized with Phosphophyllite because the others told him “not to worry” about his constitution and lack of duties in his earlier days. Now… Now… Antarcticite understands, truly, how Phosphophyllite feels. Sensei… never reproached him for letting Phosphophyllite be stolen. It was so frustrating… to be forgiven for a mistake he could have corrected. Could still correct.

“…If you could go back in time, do you think you would have tired harder?” Antarcticite asks, even though he tried his best. Even though he’s tired, because he tried his best.

“Definitely.” Phosphophyllite closes his eyes.

…He needs to try harder.

This time… This time, he needs to be stronger.

 

“-What…is that.” His voice is flat.

“Hm? Just what it looks like – a snowman!” Phosphophyllite proudly presents his sloppy work to Antarcticite, even as the blade is within reach of Antarcticite (but he knows he won’t use it, ever. Not on Phosphophyllite, at least).

“Get to work.” Antarcticite orders.

“Eeeeh~ Come _on_! We’ve been working continuously for the last two weeks! All the ice floes have already been cracked, haven’t they?!”

“Snow shovelling remains.” There’s always snow shovelling to be done.

Phosphophyllite wrinkles his nose. He rests both his palms on Antarcticite’s shoulders – and even though the action makes him want to flinch back (-it’s these hands again. These same traitorous hands that gave up on him and Phosphophyllite. It’s an irrational sentiment, he knows, but still -), he somehow manages, with much effort.

“You need to learn the meaning of fun, Antarc.” Phosphophyllite states. “Get a life already.”

“My life is devoted to Sensei and the school.” He retorts bluntly, making a mistake of turning his back on Phosphophyllite. “Now, get those _hands_ of yours moving-”

_SQUELCH_

Antarcticite freezes. His gaze is deadly cold as he turns to a sniggering Phosphophyllite, snow trailing down his back.

“Now, that’s what I call ‘ice cold’- WOAH! Antarc, don’t-! I’m _sorry-_!”

Phosphophyllite eats his apology after he’s done being buried in piles of snow.

 

\--It’s at night that the demons come, that he remembers _everything_. The first Phosphophyllite is one that had been unfamiliar, but who pushed him out of the way and sacrificed himself for him. The second Phosphophyllite is the one who had drawn parallels between them and flowers, who had looked violated after receiving a hug from Antarc. And the third – this one – the third is one who sat down and asked if something was wrong, who tossed snowballs at him – (-Please let this one be the last--)

Antarcticite freezes at the sound of clicking shoes.

“…Are you awake…Antarc?” Phosphophyllite’s voice rings out in a soft whisper.

He doesn’t want to grow closer to this Phosphophyllite. He doesn’t want, to have more memories of this one if he is stolen too. But –

“I am.” Antarcticite does not rise. “Can’t sleep?”

“The ice floes…are just a bit noisy.” They can hardly hear the ice floes from here unless they strain their ears, but Antarcticite accepts the reasoning. Phosphophyllite takes a seat at his room’s chair, looking out the window. “Hey, Antarc…”

“What?”

“Do you ever feel lonely, doing all these duties by yourself? Working through winter…all alone.”

“…I have no time for such unproductive thoughts.” He doesn’t answer the question.

“That’s a yes, then.” Phosphophyllite sees right through him.

He does not reply.

“…Don’t you think your job might be so much easier if there’s just another gem around? A strong gem…who’s not me?” Phosphophyllite’s words are things he’s never wondered. He never thought about working with another, since solitude is the best for efficiency and he’s long been resigned to lonely winters. “…Haaah… I wonder how I can possibly become stronger, weak as I am.”

That’s something Antarcticite wonders about too.

 

\-- _CLINK!_

The first lunarian that appeared had been taken down. A second appear this time too, and Phosphophyllite – _stupid, loyal, uncertain, bright Phosphophyllite_ – throws himself in front of him. Antarcticite meets Phosphophyllite’s gaze as he breaks. He sees a smile coming to those lips.

Antarcticite feels something drop again, inside of him. It joins that many other times, weighing upon him till his insides are heavy and stifled and – Phosphophyllite is still broken before him.

Racing forward on heeled shoes, Antarcticite leaps up. He doesn’t throw his blade this time (what if a third lunarian appears?). He races forward, puncturing the lunarians with his heels, and as if it’s an ice floe, he smashes down his sword. The punctured holes connect and the central lunarian splits. That isn’t enough – _Nothing’s ever enough_. He slices horizontally across the lunarian for extra measure, just in case another special type tries to steal Phosphophyllite again.

The cloud dissipates.

Antarcticite lands on his feet gracefully.

It feels like the end of a long nightmare when he turns to face Phosphophyllite--

 

\--except it’s not. Not for a long time.

Winters are long. Sunny days are many in between.

“PHOS!” Antarcticite’s the one screeching this time when he turns to see that Phosphophyllite’s already far, far beyond him, captured between sapphire claws and shattered and gathered.

He takes chase. Why hadn’t he noticed this one? Why hadn’t he seen Phosphophyllite stray far away from him? Why did he think the last time would be the end?

Lifting his sword, Antarcticite throws it at the cloud.

The blade does not reach.

Antarcticite _screeches_.

 

IX.

 

“-Will you give me one of your duties-?”

“No.” Antarcticite answers, heart empty. “No.”

Sensei orders him, regardless, to at least hand Phosphophyllite his snow shovelling duty. He does so, reluctantly, hopefully – if it’s just shovelling snow, he shouldn’t have to go anywhere near lunarians, right? – even though he’s worn and he’s earned the pouting ire of Phosphophyllite.

He finds Phosphophyllite faceplanted in the snow when he returns from ice floe breaking.

“Just go to sleep.” Antarcticite polishes his blade when Phosphophyllite rises with a gasp. “You’re not suited for this job.”

“Bleh!” Phosphophyllite sticks his tongue out, huffing. “As if I’ll ever listen to you!”

He peered up at Antarcticite with a panting, smug smile the next day.

“It’s just staying awake.” Antarcticite doesn’t say how it’s an achievement even for older gems, much less Phosphophyllite. He doesn’t say it, because some part of him thinks – _It’s not enough. This isn’t enough for surviving winter. Stop it already._ – He takes the baton from that part of himself and continues. “You’re still millenniums too early for this job if you think just staying conscious is enough.”

“Shuddap!” Phosphophyllite sulks. “It’s an improvement!”

 

\--Antarcticite acknowledges it is an improvement when Phosphophyllite stops falling asleep on his job and even musters the energy to run around school, laying sheets over the sleeping gems and Sensei, replanting flowers from where they had been, freezing in winter cold. Antarcticite sees a pot with that same white flower on his window sill one day, and he points to it, turning pointedly to a smug looking Phosphophyllite.

“Heh-heh! I figured your personality must be cold due to your constitution, so I figured caring for a flower will teach you how to show some kindness!” Phosphophyllite snickers with folded arms.

Antarcticite doesn’t speak of how he’s cared for the diamonds’ flowers. He doesn’t speak of how the flower will die anyways.

Antarcticite soundlessly waters the plants and puts them out on sunny days—

 

\--It’s on a sunny day that Phosphophyllite is stolen, not even before his eyes this time.

Antarcticite is shaken when he returns home to see pieces of phosphophyllite on the ground, right where the brat should be, sticking out his tongue at him and shovelling piles of snow. Sensei kneels regretfully in the snow, a face full of pain.

Antarcticite doesn’t speak of how Sensei should have been there to protect Phosphophyllite. He doesn’t speak of how he’s left Phosphophyllite in the hands of the strongest of them all – because even Sensei has his off days, where winter sleep catches him right in its grasp. He can’t blame Sensei for this, not when Sensei loved Phosphophyllite as much – no, perhaps even more.

…’Loved’.

…Is that what this feeling is?

Antarcticite carries Rutile’s report of Phos to Phos’ room again that night.

There’s no uniform hanging on the wall.

“Phosphophyllite.” Antarcticite calls out in an empty room.

The ornamental piece of phosphophyllite with his inclusions glimmer softly in the light of the moon.

“Phos.”

The gem that had just been another gem on the first day. The gem that had become the bane of his existence after four winters. The gem that had shown him flowers, tossed snowballs at his head, stuck his tongue out at him. The gem that should be an annoyance, through and through, except Antarcticite understands how courageous that gem is, how much effort that gem is putting into staying awake, helping out the school, becoming stronger.

Was.

Past tense.

For now anyways.

Antarcticite doesn’t get it. It hurt so much each time he loses him. In the beginning, it was just the pain of not being able to protect him. But as time went, every loss brings new sides of Phosphophyllite worth remembering. Even if it hurt, he was fond of the Phosphophyllite who tried to play with him, letting him ‘have a life’.

He doesn’t know if this feeling is called ‘love’, but…

Another Phosphophyllite is gone. This one, a childish (endearing) brat who disliked Antarcticite for refusing him.

Next time, he has to protect Phosphophyllite. (Does he?) He has to. _(Flowers. Snowballs. Snow shovelling.)_ He has to.

 

X.

 

“-While I know it cannot be done, I wish his arms were as powerful as his legs.” Those words spill thoughtlessly without consideration. He still hates ( _hates hates_ ) those arms for giving in on the both of them, but the fact is that Phos would be so much stronger if he has equally strong arms.

It’s not until Antarcticite pulls him out of water that he realizes his mistake.

“Your arms…”

Antarcticite jumps in.

Dives down, trying to find those hands.

A couple of near-calls with the ice floes brings him to the seafloor. But even then…

_“Gone.”_

Those arms that he hated…

“Gone.”

Another part of Phos.

“Gone.”

Another memory of Phos.

**“Gone.”**

 

\--He’d cried in Sensei’s arms that evening. Phosphophyllite had watched on, but not even that bothered him. Losing Phosphophyllite is enough. That’s due to the lunarians, and he shares half the blame with them. But this time… the loss of those hands is entirely his fault. How could he let Phosphophyllite out of his eyes again, after what’s happened all those times? How could he say those words, making Phosphophyllite _want_ to lose his hands? How could he… How could he be the cause of a loss this time?

He’d cried, tearless sobs with hardened antarcticite refusing to melt. Sensei had held him. Till they find a potential solution for it—

 

“I’m sorry.” Phosphophyllite apologizes as they walk to the infirmary, to fix Antarcticite’s arm. He looks reasonably bothered. “For worrying you. …I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

The guilt on his face takes away the potential snideness the usual Phosphophyllite (the fourth? Or the fifth?) would insert into those words. Antarcticite still feels embarrassed about crying before a junior, but amusement at the irony of Phos’ words somehow bubbles up. If only Phos knows how many times he’s actually made him cry.

“Just don’t do something stupid like that again.” Like pushing him out of arrows’ way. Antarcticite doesn’t add the words he really wants to say. ‘I don’t want to lose you again.’

 

“-That’s a pity…” Phosphophyllite frowns, peering down at the gold. “…even though they were just born, too. What a waste.” His troubled smile is familiar. _(In a way, doesn’t it remind you of us? Are you lonely? I wonder how I can become stronger-)_

Antarcticite relents and attaches gold to phosphophyllite.

 

“-Still, I’m glad you’re s-”

An arrow comes without warning, shattering him where he’d stood.

Antarcticite felt it, distantly. The pain throbs in his neck and spiders out. He…should have known this might be coming. The first lunarians they encounter have at times been accompanied by a second sunspot. But even then, he’d let his guard down. This is fully his mistake.

“Ant-” The cry of his name almost begins.

He can’t let Phosphophyllite call him. He can’t let Phosphophyllite be found. Be stolen. Again.

Antarcticite pushes his hand to his lips with the last of his strength. As his vision fades and blurs and he sees pieces of antarcticite before his eyes, splintering away, he whispers the words that’d keep Phosphophyllite close to Sensei – protected, safe, away from harm.

_“So that Sensei isn’t lonely… take care of winter…for me.”_

The world blurs and blanks out.

He’s glad Phosphophyllite’s in that shell of his.

This time… Phosphophyllite won’t be the one stolen.

 

XI.

 

Antarcticite wakes up with a gasp, throat clogging up with the presence of an invisible arrow.

He’s whole.

He’s…whole.

And Phosphophyllite wasn’t stolen the last time. He managed to protect Phosphophyllite! But… does this mean he was stolen? Or was he put back together by Sensei?

Rising from his casket, Antarcticite peers down at himself, unbroken, smooth, semi-liquid. Something blinks and blinds him when he turns. Antarcticite flinches. He stares, incredulous, at the top of phosphophyllite locks, pressed close up against the edge of his tub. Phosphophyllite has his lips parted in his sleep, knees pulled up and hands clumsily strewn on either side of him.

…This has never happened before.

Antarcticite very hesitantly pulls himself out of his tub, making as little clamour as possible. He pulls on his pants and clothes to at least retain some semblance of modesty.

…What year is this anyways? Has he gone back again?

No, but Phosphophyllite has never been by his tub. Sensei must have put him back together.

“Phos.” A shake of dark clothed shoulders. Phosphophyllite remains sleeping unglamorously with wide opened mouth. Really, Antarcticite wonders why he’s become so fond of this one. It’s embarrassing, how he thinks of that inelegance as ‘just Phos’. He shakes a bit harder. “Wake up, Phos!”

Phosphophyllite jolts. Eyes snap wide opened. He sits up, almost butting heads with Antarcticite.

“That was such a scary dream~~~!” Phosphophyllite pants, clutching his chest.

“You tell me.” Personally, it felt scarier for him, the risk being that he’d crack and spill if hit.

Then, phosphophyllite eyes are boring into him, large and round, and Antarcticite cocks his head, lips parted lightly in question. A moment later, to his alarm, pieces of phosphophyllite falls from Phos’ face. What the……?

“…You’re here…” Phosphophyllite murmurs, eyes squeezed tight and head lowered. “You’re really here…”

Antarcticite stills momentarily at those words. It’s far too familiar. But that isn’t important at the moment. He reaches out, fingers curling back hesitantly _(Does he deserve the right after failing him so many times? But Phos needs him)_ , but still touches those suit-clad shoulders, wondering what the hell exactly is making Phos cry.

If possible, the younger gem only sobs harder, pieces raining down with soft clinking.

His arms - …are not gold. That only brings Antarc to one possible conclusion: this is a different timeline. They’re back in the past, again. But this time-

“You called me ‘Phos’…” Phosphophyllite whispers, eyes wide despite cracking features. “You _remember._ Even though you never called me ‘Phos’ before I told you to. _You remember_.”

Something clogs up his throat at that.

“How much- do you remember?” Antarcticite forces out the words.

“Everything.” Phosphophyllite replies, turning wide eyes up at him. “Everything since the first time, till my death, or till the end of winter. Even though I didn’t remember till this time round.”

Antarcticite chokes at little at that.

He averts his eyes, not wanting to know what Phosphophyllite thinks of all that.

How pathetic he was… How he ran away from his problems… How he’d been downfallen, till the Phos of the third time dragged him back… He doesn’t want Phosphophyllite to know in the least, how much of a hypocrite he was, telling him about low-hardness gems and courage. He doesn’t want Phosphophyllite to know how many times he’d failed him till he finally succ-

“…I hope you didn’t handle my abduction too bad.” The thought occurs to Antarcticite.

This time, Phos is the one averting his eyes.

“It was – lonely.” Phos lowers his head. “Winter was lonely without you. I had dreams where you’d come back, but this time-” Phos silences himself.

_This time, this is real._

The silence hangs over them, awkward, contemplative, calming. They’re both here. They’re both real. They’re back in time, with both of them whole _(gold arms, shoe clad feet)_ and safe and – things are only going to repeat, Antarcticite realizes. He hopes it’d repeat, with both of them here, till they survive winter (together). And the source fuelling that wish is –

“I love you.” He blurts out without thinking. Phosphophyllite’s eyes are wide. “…I think.” Antarcticite adds, abashed, because he’s too used to isolation in winter.

Between days of duty and flowers and snowballs and _them_ , he’s not so sure about his feelings. But if there’s one thing he knows, it’d be that he has to say it now, while they’re both here. Antarcticite doesn’t want to risk another time losing another Phosphophyllite to gather the courage to admit his feelings. Fondness for Phosphophyllite and cloudy days of fun and teasing may equate to an ambiguous liking, but even then, even if things aren’t clear now, Antarcticite wants to take the opportunity to treasure these days while they last.

Phosphophyllite remains stunned for a second. Then, he giggles, teasing.

“What’s with that sort of half-assed confession? You should woo cute, little me with more enthusiasm to up your charm!”

Antarcticite feels his cheeks warm. His brows furrow. He’s none too familiar with such language, but does mean Phos finds Antarcticite charming? Or lacking in that field?

He jumps, at the hand curling into his, taking the thin hardened shell of antarcticite gently.

“This is sooo cheesy, but I’m not too sure of what I feel either.” Phos furrows his brows in frustration. “Like, the third me really, _really_ likes you, but the fourth me is a sulking pouting mess over you. Says you’re mean and all-! I can’t really disagree with that.”

Ah. Phosphophyllite the brat’s meddling again, huh.

“But, well. I don’t mind trying out this pairing thing with you!” Phosphophyllite beams. “So long as we both survive the next winter.”

Slowly, Antarcticite squeezes back on phosphophyllite hands. He doesn’t find them so bad now, holding him.

“We’ve got to do our best then.”

“But ah, owow – don’t get too determined about it, you workaholic senior!”

 

.

.

.

?

.

In the distant future, two gems sit at a tub, hands connected, one watching the other melt into liquid.

Outside, winter warms and welcomes spring.


	3. Fibrodysplasia Ossificans Progressiva [FOP]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Is a birth ailment wherein tendons and muscles turn into bone upon trauma, afflicted patients eventually caged by shells of their own body overtime. _Average life expectancy is 40 years._
>> 
>> “It’s fine, An-chan. I’m used to being trapped in my own body.” Fong’s smile is gentle around the edges. 
> 
> In which ~~Antarcticite~~ Ango Fuyuhiko is a doctor. And Fong? ~~Fong~~ Phosphophyllite's not your typical patient. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my tribute to those who truly live with this ailment. This isn't just fictional. [Kaplan isn't. Tiffany isn't. _**FOP isn't.**_ None of the victims and the hand they've been dealt with are.] It's a very real story, and I wish to spread awareness of it, because it isn't fair, how the investigation of rare diseases (and not just FOP) is considered career suicide, how they aren't looked into properly, just because it'd be less profitable and the market is smaller and whatnot. This is actual people living and dying. 
> 
> Here are links to relevant documentaries and images:
> 
> `[Doc: The Girl Who Turned to Bone](https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2013/06/the-mystery-of-the-second-skeleton/309305/), ` `[Image: Harry Eastlack: The man who donated his body](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fibrodysplasia_ossificans_progressiva), [Image: Malformed Big Toes, FOP](https://fopaustralia.org/)`
> 
> *Oh, and please keep in mind that Ango Fuyuhiko is his own person in the beginning. Thus all the bolded, italics, underlined, bracketed etc, are all intentional. He's literally an awkward medical student still in his early twenties barely out of internship, insecure about his own abilities. _Meaning he’s his own person, not Antarc_.*

* * *

SETTING: [NOTTINGHAM PANORAMA CITY](https://pixels.com/featured/nottingham-panorama-city-watercolor-justyna-jbjart.html) by [Justyna JBJart](https://pixels.com/profiles/justyna-jaszke.html)

* * *

 

I

Fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva.

Ango Fuyuhiko backtracks and has a whipsplash taking a second look because –

_That boy has fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva._

Legs bent all out of shape are hidden behind a clever yellow sheet. (Tendons and muscles and tissues chipped and replaced by bone.) His shoulders – ( _they look uncomfortable_ ) – pulled back a tad too much, _locked_. Back frozen straight. One hand trapped for eternity in the same curled posture. [ _Did he break it at some point of time?_ Rudely, his brain pulls out a list of possible ways – it needn’t be sports, violence, or any action – just the wrong shove in the wrong direction does the deed.] Lost in his thoughts, Ango is startled when the boy throws his head back.

A laugh, that’s startlingly normal.

Free hand cradled around a cup of coffee lifts unbounded to his lips.

Free in the presence of his friend [Surely, _surely_ , he must not be lost to the numerable intrigued stares], the boy’s lips curl up in a smile.

Then blue eyes turn to him.

Ango startles, eyes widening and shifting away. He was caught staring.

“What’re you looking at?” The boy’s companion snaps. The gruff teen swivels to direct his piercing glare at all around the café.

“I-” Ango shakes his head. “Erm.” ‘Hi, I’m a doctor possibly seeking for career suicide and am currently considering looking into the condition that your friend there has.’ He can’t possibly just up and say that, can he?

But flustered and socially awkward as Ango is, he somehow ends up doing that.

“I-I’m sorry- I just- Eh.” He fumbles as he shoves his hand into his pocket. Pulls out his name card. And in three large timid strides, end up right beside the poor ( _poor?_ ) FOP boy who blinks up at him with (beautiful) large eyes too old for his young age. “I’m-” An adult, who should start getting a grasp over himself. “-I apologize. I’m a doctor currently looking into FOP. This is sudden, but would you consider joining our research to help others out there like you?”

The gruff teen splutters, choking on coffee that leaves his nose messily.

“Eww! _Kan-chan!_ ” The boy grimaces in disgust. Free hand unbounded by bones snipes a tissue at his friend.

“What – did – Anta – _friendly stranger_ here _say_?!” The friend coughs.

Ango flushes.

And that was Ango Fuyuhiko’s first meeting with Fong.

 

II

Fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva. A birth ailment where the bone-growing process never stops even beyond birth. Where tendons and muscles turn into bone upon trauma, patients eventually caged by shells of their own body overtime. Infants are born with the tell-tale sign of abnormally turned, large toes. The average life expectancy of forty. Classified as rare disease by the many medical organisations – inflicting only about one in every two million-

Ango drops his head in his hands.

He knew that investigating such rare disease is effectively considered career suicide.

Yet, why is he doing this?

“Doc, you okay?”

“Fine. I’m totally fine—” Except the one asking is the one who should not be.

Ango freezes. Looks up, where Fong is smiling, frame frozen in the exact same position as last time and free hand postured around a remote for his wheelchair.

“Frozen much?” The way Fong chuckles [ ~~raspily~~ ] hints at a joke only he’s privy to. “I’m honoured! Who knew someone other than Kan-chan would be so flustered to have a date with me?”

A wink of blue eyes. It’s – unprofessional, to have a patient joke-assuring him things are fine.

“A date. In a medical room.” The grip slips out without his permission. Ango’s hands are still entangled in messy white locks.

“With my clothes off, too. You sure are greedy for your first date, aren’t you?” Fong laughs.

“I forgot to mention the last time: I’m the assistant researcher around here.”

“Eh.” Fong’s nose wrinkles. Ango watches the motion with wonder (in awe) because ( _it’s nice to know that they’re not all bones_ ) _._ “So long as the lead doc ain’t an old geezer, I’m fine with a third wheel.”

“What.”

Fong takes one look at his face and dissolves in a fit of hysterical [ ~~no doubt painful~~ ] giggles.

Ango watches him with wide eyes, taken by the way those brightly dyed turquoise locks fall and droop around a tiny face, delighted and bright. This – he’s firmly reminded of – _this_ is why he chose this job. ~~[This boy.]~~ Because there’re people like Fong who remains brightly shining in spite of their plight – because if he’s got the ability to _try_ , then he’s got to do it. It’s his responsibility [ ~~for what?~~ ] as a doctor. As a fellow human being.

“You’re bewildering.” He sighs, rising to his feet.

“You say that as if I’m not equally endearing.” Fong bats his eyes at him.

“You are.”

Fong freezes, eyes wide.

And Ango rapidly backtracks, taking his place overly eagerly behind the wheelchair to avoid his stare.

“I mean – You’re not _un-_ endearing. Ah. What am I even saying?” Ango drags a palm down his face. Quietly sends a glare at the huffing [snickering], eavesdropping receptionist. He’s so not going to getting Jane her McMuffins next time she calls.

“Let’s just get going.” He huffs.

“Pfthaha!” Fong bursts out laughing. Ango imagines he’d reach back and pat his hand reassuringly if he’s able to. When he’s cured. ( _Because surely someone like Fong must deserve that._ ) “You’re charming, Doc. Up for a lunch date next time?”

“Well,” A patient wants to chat him up. But at the same time, Ango can never help but submit, because it’s these _patients_ of his. [They are always so charismatic and strong ~~and lonesome, in their forced solidary strength. Just. Like--~~ ] “So long as that ruffian of a friend you’ve got won’t glare me to submission.”

And that’s Ango’s second meeting with Fong.

 

III

The third time is not how he wanted it.

[ ~~Because Ango’s never fast enough. He’s never enough, to help.~~ ]

“It has grown.”

Kaplan, his mentor and partner, [an old man who Fong had looked despairingly at the second time round before turning to give a pointedly blank look at Ango] looks reasonably tired. Ango knows he’ll be more inclined to be devastated in his Quiet Time, away from patients and Ango. Away from everyone, who needs the one and sole leading FOP specialist to be strong. And Ango can only watch on, even though this is a tragedy that’s repeated numerous times.

Fong’s lips thin. He doesn’t nod _because he’s no longer capable of doing it_. [Bone growing up the tendons along the neck kind of does that to a person.] Doesn’t tilt his head, like he was still minutely capable of the last time. Doesn’t throw his head back in a laugh.

Instead, he _smiles_ at Ango, like it’s him who needs reassurances _._

“It’s fine, An-chan. I’m used to being trapped in my own body.” Ango sees his fingers twitch, as if wanting to move the limb. [ ~~He dies a bit more on the inside.~~ ] Fong’s smile is gentle around the edges. “More importantly, how should I give the girls a Passionate KissTM now?! Help me think up ideas ASAP!” (Kaplan chokes on his spit.)

Ango wants to be caught up in his charms and swept off into a land where everything is fine. But all he does is stare.

“Ango.” Kaplan calls. Ango jolts. His mentor’s gaze is kind. “Do you need to take a seat?”

“I just-” Ango starts, looking to the door. “-need a moment.”

A moment turns into another. Then more.

Till the appointment ends.

At some point, he’s pushing the wheelchair. Fong’s fingers are hovering over the handle of the remote.

“I’m sorry.” He apologises. Fong should be feeling so much worse about this compared to him. “Now that I think about it, I’ve never told you, have I? I wasn’t a doc back then, when I first met you. Doctor Kaplan only just invited me to the research team and I just – _decided_ – then and there, when I saw you, that I needed to help. And you –”

“Was so adorbs you decided to waste your entire life on this?”

“Yes.” Ango blinks. “Wait. I mean –”

“Not _un_ -adorbs?” Fong suggests.

“No! You’re cute, but I wasn’t – I wasn’t focusing on that back then-” Ango splutters, and Fong laughs again. [ ~~It’s raspy. Bones stretched over chest trapping lungs.~~   **How painful is it, really?** Even now, Fong’s still trying to reassure him. How ~~pathetic~~ is he?] Focus. “And _don’t you go calling it a waste._ ” Ango blinks fiercely down at the back of his head. “Not a single one of you are a waste of my time. Not when you deserve _so much more_.”

Fong’s giggles die instantly.

Ango doesn’t take back his words. [Everyone is worth the effort. ~~He’d know.~~ ]

“…thanks, for saying so.” A word that brings his breath to his throat.

Ango looks away, blinking rapidly.

“So, is that lunch date still up?” Fong chirps, switching the topic within a bat of an eye. Ango blinks and falters momentarily in his steps.

“Well –”

 

[“Oh _no_.” Fong’s wolverine friend takes one look at him and absolutely _groans._

Ango blinks, carefully deciding that this would be a bad time for Fong’s ‘cute’ nickname [ ~~Kan-chan~~ ] for his friend to pop up in his mind ~~and no, he didn’t just think that. Don’t tell Kan-chan even at the risk of your life.~~ But said friend only looks up miserably at the sky, long-suffering, and sighs “ _Fong_ ” – a sentiment that he somehow sympathises with. (Fong must be one of those mess-creating friends.)

“I told you I’d find a boyfriend for myself before twenty!” Fong chirps. And Ango feels as startlingly scandalized as the way ~~Kan-chan~~ looks at him.

“I did not endorse this in any manner or form.” He says tersely, and Fong’s friend nods, still giving a look that he doesn’t comprehend.

“Come on.” ~~Kan-chan~~ folds his arms. “Let’s go, you troublemaker.” He whacks Fong over the head [ ~~Ango denies having felt a moment of intense murder till he realizes~~ hardly painful, more a light pat than anything else. Ango denies feeling the slightest bit envious as he sees Fong off in the hands of his pal there, too].

“I’ve got a date later on with Lapi – _Ran_.” He corrects, eyes flickering to him.

Ango wonders and wonders – but as always, what use is thinking, till he gets to work?]

 

IV

The fourth time went like this:

“You paint.” Ango states, startled.

He doesn’t know why he’s startled.

Fong blinks up at him, vision limited – and without thinking, Ango bends down as if to analyse the painting when it’s really, so Fong wouldn’t strain himself. Still, being in close proximity with the paintings only increases the magnitude of their beauty. Water colours, Ango realizes. They’re depictions of young androgynous forms in water colours and acrylic – as _Gems._

Releasing a breath he doesn’t know he was holding, Ango reaches up and hovers his fingers over the edges of the canvas. [He doesn’t dare touch it. **~~Why doesn’t he dare touch it?~~** ]

Still.

“It’s –” _Beautiful._ Is the word that rises to his lips but do not fall.

Because when he looks up, he finds Fong’s countenance in the faint reflection of the window.

He sees blue and green locks, so similar to the painting he’s just barely gracing (but which is fully embracing him). And his profile – _it’s_ – (Something squeezes deep inside.) ~~Antarcticite~~ Ango furrows his brows. Because it hurts. Because [ ~~he can’t remember~~ ]. Because ~~Phosphophyllite~~ Fong looks so lost, even as he faintly smiles. [ ~~And that face is half frozen, as it should be.~~ ]

Ango breaths, wondering why he feels this way.

Not a crush. No way. It can’t be, right? (The last thing he needs involved in this relationship is the remnants of his ~~dorky middle school self~~ dark past, _really_.)

“You’re literally watching paint dry, An-chan.” Fong pouts a moment later. It’s – [ ~~home~~ ] ( _cute._ But don’t tell anybody he felt that.) He twitches a finger, and the wheelchair buzzes as it moves. “Let’s goo already~! Ah, I hope you don’t mind leftover pizza. Because I’m literally a broke college kid.”

“You know I could cook up something for you if you want.” He offers.

“How could you?!” Fong gasps. “But pizza’s my holy food!”

 _Of course_ , it’d be pizza. Must run with the college kid jig thing.

 

V

The fifth time, they watch Avengers together on the couch.

At some point of time, Fong falls asleep, and Ango regrets inviting him onto the couch with him.

With the sounds of the ending credits rolling in the background, Ango very carefully slides his arms under the other’s back and legs [one lolls. One is frozen. Eternally. ~~Knee fracture. Healing knee, all in the wrong posture. That stupid, horrendously **oblivious** doctor, whoever he is.~~ ] Then putting him back in his wheelchair, Ango takes one look and decides to settle a cushion between Fong’s back and the wheelchair.

Maybe, he realizes thereafter, he should have placed Fong in his cot. Only, he discovers that he doesn’t know how the other sleeps with that posture, with those bones. _He’s still got a long way to go_ , he thinks, turning off the television.

Fong is still lost in his nap [how hot must it be to be trapped in a wheelchair all day? Ango can hardly understand, except – ~~except he does~~ ]. In his sleep, the teen looks young – _and lifeless._ Ango resists the urge to shake him awake.

 _FOP patients’ have a life expectancy of 40_.

He remembers.

Ango grips the other cushion on the couch. Curses, because _if only he can do more to help._

“Thanks.” Fong smiles, slightly sheepish, when he’s leaving. “For, you know, always coming here.”

 _But I can do more._ ~~Antarc~~ thinks. _But I should do so much more._

Ango throws himself head fist into his research, because ( _there’s someone ~~Fong~~ who needs him to pull through at all cost_ ) [ ~~Because ** _phosphophyllite_** is his responsibility, and an--’s nothing if not responsible.~~ ]

 

[“You okay, lad?” Kaplan asks, sitting down coffee from that stall where he found Fong.

“Fine.” Ango is totally polite even as he keeps his eyes on the work. “Totally dandy.”

“None of that sass from your youth now.” Kaplan snorts. Ango smiles at the mock-punch on his shoulder. “Y’ know I totally understand, don’t you? The feeling of having your heart be captured by the first patient you treat. That’s how _my_ senior – frickin’ manipulative bastard he is – convinced me to do – _this_.” He waves his hand, to each and every single thing that’s in this room. “Showed me a baby with FOP. Hard to leave afterwards.” He grumbles.

Ango goes still.

“…My first patient’s Maria Wilston.”

“She’s not the one who got you into this.” Kaplan says and (just a little) (No, actually, a lot) Ango feels more lost. Kaplan exhales, and he’s patted on the shoulder. “I won’t say it’s not good to be passionate but – just take care of yourself. I say it often and I’ll say it again, but – we’re the only two standing in this field. If _we_ fall, who’d look after these kids next?”

[ ~~Sensei and Phosphophyllite. Only-~~ ] (It’s just them now.) Maybe – _maybe_ he should have accepted that lunch date Fong offered afterall. Take a breather. Spend time with the ones precious to him. (And isn’t that pathetic? That Fong is precious and he’s still surrounded by FOP even in his time off? How masochistic is he?)

“Thanks, Doc.” He gulps down the coffee. It’s the same taste as the one from their first meeting.

“Anytime, kid.”]

 

[When the call comes to say that Tiffany – the boy who inspired Kaplan to devote his life to the research – that _he ---died_ \- came, the lab closes down to offer privacy to Kaplan.

Ango doesn’t visit Fong, but he calls and listens, to the happy chirp of a [too familiar] voice drifting across the phone. (Because he’s here.) [ ~~They’re both here. Alive.~~ ] And that brings comfort ~~for now~~.]

 

VI

Another toe is frozen, from Fong’s accidental kick against the coffee table.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re a magnet for danger.” Ango deadpans on their trip out.

“Right. Because coffee tables are sooooo dangerous.” Fong drawls.

“Really though.” Ango glares. “Take care of yourself. You don’t want to imagine losing another limb.”

At his words, Fong smiles sardonically, as if already planning something that’s a sure discomfort. Ango reaches out without thinking. Pinches the still tender cheek. And Fong’s face transforms into a look of shock. [Shock is a good expression on him. It’s nice, to see that melancholy fall away.] Behind them, Jane makes a cough that reminds Ango of where he is.

Ango retracts his hand as if burned, flushing. Fong watches with wide eyes.

“J-Just. _Don’t._ ” Ango frowns, looking out the window and – He sees Kango there, just staring blankly, because the world hates him.

 

[“Don’t worry.” The brat has the cheek to snark at him as he leaves. “I’ll take care of your not boyfriend for you.”

This time, it’s not only him doing the spluttering.]

 

VII

It’s another two months before he’s knocking on Fong’s doors of his own accord.

“I’m _sorry_.” Cheeks stained with _something_ , Fong averts his gaze. “I just don’t think we should continue this anymore. N-Not-” Blue eyes scans the room for emphasis. His gaze drops and falls on lap – one leg frozen, one leg weakened by the lack of activity. “Not _with me_.” He says that like it should mean something- “Not _like this_.” -voice dripping with something beyond heartbreak.

Ango leans in. Squats down, till he’s practically leaning over Fong’s knees. Cradles the flesh of his cheeks in his palms gently.

“You’re _you_.” He says, icy blue clashing with blue. “That’s all that matters.”

Then blues are watering. Fong gnaws on his lip – an action that Ango stops by pinching his cheek. Then, the waterworks come, silently despairful.

“See what you did, An-chan? You were so cheesy, tears of despair are coming out now.” Ango swipes his fingers over the falling droplets. Fong laughs – a crisp ringing sound that’s breathless and all pain and happiness. “May I please record you saying that again? I promise I won’t upload it on soundcloud or make a gif out of it.”

Ango rolls his eyes.

“I _totally_ believe you.”

 

[“Don’t make him cry.” Kan-chan says upon returning. “…Is what I probably should be saying, but by all means, go ahead and just enjoy life with him.” He shrugs. “I hope the two of you live long and healthy. As healthy as you can with trouble magnet there.”

“ _Awww~_ That’s so sweet, Kan-chan!” Fong’s voice is sickeningly sweet.

“It’s called courtesy, dumbass.” Kango deadpans. “Take it as a house-leaving gift, because I’m so fucking glad you’re finally out of my fricking hands.”

“See how he’s already planning our honeymoon for us, darling?” Fong bats his lashes at Ango. And he feels indulgently amused, even if slightly flustered at the nickname. “Kan-chan’s the best friend you could possibly get, ain’t he?”

Unlike the last, Ango _does_ burst out a laugh when Kango slaps his own face frightfully loudly and leaves a red mark that stays till the next appointment.]

 

VIII

“Kiss me.” Fong demands at some point mid-awkward cuddle, single free hand tugging timidly on his arm curled loosely around the other’s waist.

[Must be **_very, very_** careful. Can’t hurt him, ~~even if you already knew he’s tougher than he seems. He’s Phosphophyllite who wanted to grow stronger. Could grow stronger. Is already stronger.~~ Even if Fong burns passionately, always like a fire that knows it’s about to go out.] [And you’re the firefly drawn to that.] [ ~~Tsk. Cheesy.~~ ]

Ango blinks, nose still pressed inches away from bony shoulders hidden beneath the faint smell of flowery pizza ( ~~is there even such a thing?~~ ) of the other’s hoodie. He leans up, cradling Fong’s still fleshy cheek gently. And he presses their lips together, chaste and shy and soft. The aftermath sees both their faces flushing, sharing a warm breath – Fong’s a light pretty pink that makes him wonder if the teen really had his first kiss before, like he said-

Wait.

“I’m such a horrible adult.” Ango then realizes. He buries his face in his hands. “Doing this to a kid.” He groans.

“I’m _19_ , An-chan.” Fong scowls. “Honestly? Shut up and go back cuddling. You’re ruining the mood.”

 

[ _Half his life expectancy, gone._ Need to work faster. Ango throws himself at his research when it’s time to work, and spends the most time he can at Fong’s when he isn’t.

“I’m getting old.” Kaplan sighs. “But no, _hell no_ , I’m soo not retiring, like those nasty old crooks _advise._ I will  stay and make sure those frickin’ pharmacies carry through with their promise. Needa see the production of those pills that’d stop the FOP gene, afterall.” He looks up. “You gonna stay too, lad?”

“Till the end of this.” Ango replies, a smile on his face. “And then after –” After? He just wants to live life happy with Fong. “I’ll think about after, when it comes.”

“Living life awfully recklessly there, huh.” Kaplan snorts.]

 

IX

“I love you.” [ ~~Always.~~ ] Ango isn’t sure who said it first. “I love you.”

 

X

The day he receives the call, he knew something is wrong. Kango is hysterical over the phone.

 _Then,_ he’s rushing to the hospital. (A hospital different from his own. Ironic.) Accident. Car. Vehicle. Ribs broken. That extra ribcage from FOP, digging into his lungs. [ ~~Going to die. Trauma causes bone to replace tendons. Heart and lungs. Muscles and vessals and tissues and --~~ ] Broken bones. _Broken. **Broken. SHA—[--TTERED *** CLINK *** “—Makes me most disappointed—“”—ne of my duties—“”—a waste—“”ANTA—“”—look after winter for me—“”ANTARC—“]**_

“ANTARCTICITE!”

A smack across his face.

 ~~Ango~~ Antarc sees doubles, until – until the world returns (just a little) [FAR TOO MUCH] – and – the gem – he must be a gem – must be born after he was stolen – he called him ‘Anta’ the first time – Kango is tear-streaked, Kango is infuriated, Kango is – he is –

“ _Gone._ ” Kango states, fist heavy on the collar of his doctor’s coat. “ _He’s gone, Ango._ ”

The tenth time he meets ~~Fong~~ Phosphophyllite isn’t really a meeting at all.

_Too late._

_He remembered too late._

“Phos is…” Antarc shakes his head. Because it can’t be. That little menace that he worked so hard to protect [ _to salvage_ ] he can’t be gone so easily. He—[ _“-Not with me. Not like this.”_ ][ “It’s fine, An-chan. I’m used to being trapped in my own body.”][Gems. _Gems._ Paintings, of gems, of _him_.] – He _knew_. He remembered. But— “No… Nononononono _no_. Tell me you’re lying. Phos can’t – He _can’t_ –”

“You’re…” Kango stumbles back, eyes wide. “…Antarc.”

But he’s already lost to the world, screaming to muffle his grief.

 

0

[“He doesn’t remember.” Cairngorm states, walking by the side of the wheelchair ~~because he knows Phosphophyllite actually really hates having to depend on others on him.~~ “It’s not him, Phos. Even then, do you still intend to continue-”

“It’s _him_ , Cairngorm.” Just the words send sparks flying. Not necessarily good ones. Phosphophyllite smiles, even when the action hurts. His free leg shakes, trembling with emotion. The other one’s – bah. What’s gone is gone, right? _It’s not the first time anyways._ “Even here, he’s still _Antarc_.” He laughs. “Still helping out people, being so responsible, even though he’s still my awkward sempai.”

Phosphophyllite smiles like it’s a secret joke lost to Cairngorm. It very well might be.

“Well, it’s your life.” Cairngorm shrugs. Even after he’s made it so clear their lives are distinct _and theirs_ , he’s still there by Phosphophyllite’s side. (Until how long?) _Until the end._ “But _don’t_ you dare frighten me again. Leaving house without telling – honestly, I’ll break you one of these days.”

Oh, there it is! A dark joke only those of their kind remember! Phosphophyllite laughs, even if he can’t throw his head back anymore. _Even here, they’re still them._ ]

 

\---

Too late. It’s far too late to remember. Far too late for the pills to have finished processing.

It would have been too late even if ~~Fong~~ Phosphophyllite is still alive anyways. The pills only stop the activity of the genes anyways. What’s bones will forever remain encased in bone. (This research has never been a way to help those in existence. It’s meant to be a gift, from the present, to the future. To those children in the future who find themselves living with this same condition.) (Somewhere along the way, he just forgot that.)

Antarc returns home, _only not to his home_. He drops on his bed, curling up, too tired to even cry. Still at some point, the wrenching sobs came.

The next day, he goes to work. He sees more FOP patients. (His heart squeezes shut, even as Antarcticite holds himself together.)

The next day, he’s given a week off by Kaplan.

He avoids the café. He avoids that street. He avoids long memorised paths to Fong’s house – discrete isolated paths, to avoid the persistent stares of an uncaring general population whose only concern is the abnormality before their eyes (and never what’s within).

Then he returns. And he stares at the paintings left to dry and breaks down at the pieces of Phosphophyllite smiling up at him from the canvas.

(Did he know this was coming? Why did he stay with him even then? Even though he didn’t remember? How much had Phosphophyllite _hurt_ , because he was oblivious?)

“You’re _you_ , he said.” ~~Kango~~ Cairngorm says when he returns, dropping a bag of groceries and joining him on the couch. His face is full of nastiness, dark bags under his eyes. “Even here, you’re still you. That’s all he thought matters.”

“He loved you.” He adds needlessly.

And Antarcticite knows. He knows already, how much Phosphophyllite loved him. He knows this isn’t the way to continue, to remember Phosphophyllite.

Leaning over his knees, wrecking harsh sobs came, stealing his voice. Cairngorm pats his back and stays. (He’s so kind, kind, _kind,_ isn’t he? This one? Just like Phosphophyllite and his “But it’s such a pity. Even though you’re just born too.”)

Times marches on. The days on the calendar changes. This time, the Earth spins without a Phosphophyllite.

 

\---

Antarcticite is thirty-five when a child is brought to him in the arms of a pair of worried parents. His toes are enlarged and twisted, an undeniable sign of fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva.

“He’s already had the scans done, even though the doctors at the other hospital said it’s dangerous, for his age.” The mother hands him the scans, which showcases the very prominent case of twisted toe bones (done in by the cradle position in the womb, no doubt). “Is there-“ Her hands fidget and pulls worriedly. “I-Is there anything you can do to fi-ix him?” Her voice breaks.

The infant is sleeping in his father’s arms, oblivious to the world and himself. He is hairless, chubby cheeks somehow making him seem endearingly petulant even unconscious.

“Rest assured that we’ve got the pills developed for this ailment, which can be taken regularly to put a stop to the overactivity of the bone-growing gene.” The mother’s face relaxes. Ango smiles, and resolves himself to make a detailed, layman explanation that’d put more of their worries to rest. But for now – “May I take a look at him though? His name is…”

“Kongo.”

Antarc’s eyes widen.

“Like ‘Adament’, in Japanese.” The Asian father explains quietly. “Because we want him to pull through adamantly, regardless of his disability.”

What kind of coincidence is this? The universe really likes to pull its greatest pranks on him, doesn’t it?

And Antarc smiles in spite of the turbulent emotions deep within because – _Look, Phos. Seems like our time spent together was not wasted afterall._ He breathes (can’t break down before this couple. They’re already worried enough) and he smiles, reaching out to lean over and watch the infant.

“Don’t worry now, Kongo. We’ll get you better in no time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fact: FOP pills is still undergoing lab testing. It has not yet been developed.


	4. Strings of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “Is it-” Cairngorm asks. Because Antarcticite matters so much more to Phosphophyllite than him. “-possible for you to attach a synthesized outer layer of Antarc onto me?” 
> 
> All his life, Cairngorm has always wondered about the strings hanging from Ghost's fingers. That may or may not have to do with the gems at the other end of them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: None
> 
> In retrospect, I should have published this chapter as a separate story. Too late to regret though. But for the folks out there who're not into Cairngorm, you may skip this. Just saying.

Credits: the much beloved, talented [asyrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aysrin/pseuds/aysrin)

 

**RAINY WHITE**

 

Rainy white was the first thing that Cairngorm awoke to – a startlingly _white_ colour standing out in enveloping darkness.

To the new world of everything that’s _too much_ and that’s _what who how_ , Cairngorm remembers _aching_ to part his lips and screech bloody murder. He remembers – how horrifying it is, to realize _he can’t move his body is not moving he can’t get away from here_ and bristling inwardly, when he felt the faint brush of a sleepy presence that curled up away from him moments later.

The waves crash. Cairngorm’s terrified by the water that submerge and slinks away from him.

Forced to be submerged, forced to bear the darkness, Cairngorm did the only thing he could:

He latched onto single white light curled around his pinky like a halo.

It’s in this manner that Cairngorm drifted off, replaced by the trembling presence that kindly kept its distance from him. (It’s in this manner that he was ~~saved~~ loved.)

 .

When Cairngorm next rouses, it’s to the gentle caress against him.

_‘Awake?’_ Askes the Other Presence within him, less with words and more with fluttery concern.

Cairngorm grumbles and rolls over. The Other Presence keeps its distance, and – oddly enough – he knew it’s observing him. Cairngorm doesn’t give a damn about its concern for him. The Other Presence can take over for all he cares. He needs sleep, damn it.

But when The Other Presence brushes against him wordlessly again, he finds himself unable to shove it away.

Rising to the surface with the unwanted assistance of The Other Presence lifting him up, Cairngorm had blinked away the wetness in his eyes – ‘ _rain_ ’, The Other Presence filled in – and stared blankly at the world before him.

He is now in a familiar white, _white_ place that is far whiter than The Other Presence and its halo. There are earthy brown things beneath him, hard and polished. And he has been tucked into a fountain of softthings, making it way too hard to move. Locked in his position mimicking a curled up ball, Cairngorm sends The Other the equivalent of a raised brow inwardly.

_‘Sleep.’_ The Other Presence supplies helpfully.

That doesn’t explain things in the slightest.

_‘Others. Same.’_ The Other Presence pursues its non-existent lips. _‘Helping.’_

Now, Cairngorm doesn’t particularly care who or what the Others are. All that he cares is that neither him nor The Other Presence is once more submit to that _pitch, Black, Darkness_ ; that he doesn’t have to _gasp for breath under too heavy wavy waves, cry wordlessly and thump his fists continuously deep within for non-existent help_ –

The Other Presence feels his rising agitation. The Other Presence curls up snugly against his back – or where his back would be, if The Other Presence has a physical form.

_‘It okay.’_ The Other Presence does the equivalent of back stroking.

Cairngorm freezes.

_‘It okay now.’_

And… Cairngorm doesn’t know how to answer.

By all means, he should not be listening.

He knows better afterall. Who would, if not him?

But…for whatever reason, Cairngorm sees the ray of rainy white still curled around his pinky. He thumbs it lightly – _he can move! It’s still here, even now_ – and feels The Other Presence shudder, faint confusion ebbing out into disgruntlement, and then back to somehow soothing-comforting. Intrigued, Cairngorm repeats the action, and receives yet another unpleasant shiver from deep within. Does The Other Presence feel that?

Puzzlement bubbles up wordlessly from The Other Presence. Deep rooted confusion, and abruptly, a wave of terror that makes him freeze, eyes wide as it washes over him.

_(Dark. Dark. **DARK. LOSTSCAREDSOVERYSCARED--)**_

Immediate regret chokes him upon his stumble on a less than pleasant realization that – _confusion. It’s confusion that’s most scary in this huge, new, raw world out here._ And he made The Other Presence feel that way.

_‘…’_ The Other Presence is silent, but that doesn’t make it any better.

Pulling his hand away like a child with hands caught in the cookie jar, Cairngorm retreats deep within and doesn’t come out till The Other Presence nudges at him again.

 .

But it’s not just the halo of rainy white – the colour of _Ghost_ , _Ghost Quartz, Ghost Quartz, Phantom Quartz,_ Cairngorm still can’t get used to the name The Other Presence now have, or that it’s he who doesn’t have a physical body, not The Oth- _Ghost, Ghost Quartz._ – that remains protruding from the appendage they’re taught is a ‘hand’.

There are others, colours that Cairngorm had enthusiastically taken over to learn from Sensei personally.

“Blue.” Sensei said with closed eyes and a flower in his hand. “Is the colour of this plant. White is the colour of what we’re standing on – a colour for quartz, and a shade of you.”

Cairngorm stares with wide eyes at the two lines of blue and one of white curled loosely around his pinky, entangled with the rainy white he’s grown to call Rainy White fondly (The one called Pink called the jellyfishes that). The two Blues extend out to the same direction. White goes towards another.

Cairngorm lifts his hand to Sensei and demands,

“What?”

The much taller presence looks down with soft, indulging eyes.

“This is a hand.” Sensei repeats, ever so patient.

Cairngorm shakes his hand fervently and waves his hand in Sensei’s face. With furrowed brows because – _can’t he see this? But Sensei is Sensei, right? –_ he huffs petulantly, hiding his satisfaction at how Sensei adjusted so simply to the realization that _it’s him and not Ghost Quartz._

“Blue.” He states, closing all fingers except for his pinky.

Sensei’s eyes slowly widened.

“White!” He says, and then, slowly, he reaches out to untangle Rainy White from White _White_ to show Sensei _._

The result is a sharp jolt from The Other Presence deep within him, following which Cairngorm rushes to roughly pat the non-existent-but-except-it’s-existent back of The Other Presence, murmured apologies ready on his inner self’s lips.

Ghost Quartz unfurls slowly, a sleepy confused, _‘What…?’,_ but Cairngorm continues apologizing nevertheless, clumsy actions making the supposedly light brushes a hard thump that only makes him angrier at himself.

“…You possess the sight of the ancient creatures, Ghost.”

Sensei lays a hand on his head.

Cairngorm flinches instinctively, but he knows he’ll learn to stop – just like Ghost said he would. (Ghost has always been right till now.)

“Those threads you see are what connect you to the ones you will bond with.”

Sensei squats down and smiles.

“Treasure those bonds you have, for what you have here is a gift.”

 .

A gift.

[Definition: A present. A talent. A skill.]

It’s a gift, to be able to see these threads? To have these threads, bounded to his – _Ghost’s_ fingers?

_‘What are you thinking about?’_ Ghost ponders softly, intrigued by his rolling thoughts.

Cairngorm frowns inwardly at the playful brush against his non-existent ( _yes it’s non existent_ ) back and grumbles wordlessly, curling in just a bit more on himself.

Privacy is never present when you have a separate entity in your mind. Or is he the one that’s the separate entity?

Sensei had explained, in terms not less than certain, about how they are two gems grown on one – about how Ghost is the one growing on Cairngorm – how this will indubitably be a cause of concern for them in the future ( _“It may be tough, but let’s work together, to make it easier for you.”_ ).

Cairngorm doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a damn about who’s growing on who, because he’s glad Ghost is there. Full control of body or not, that glowing rainy white thread still linked around their ( _yes, Yes. It’s theirs._ ) pinky is bonded to itself, because Ghost is him and he is Ghost. He can’t imagine a life that doesn’t consist of living in between sleepy moments and a teasing The Other Presence, because that’s all he knows of – and frankly, _he doesn’t want to imagine what it’d be like if he hadn’t woken up with Ghost with him._

_‘Aw. That’s sweet.’_ Ghost smiles, both internally and externally.

Not even the sight of the curious older gems gasping and dodging away to whisper – _“He’s smiling at nothing again.” “That_ strange _gem.” “Sshh! Don’t say that! He can hear!”_ – manages to make it falter.

Cairngorm is gruff when he surfaces briefly to snarl at the gang of _gossipers._

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” He spits.

Then Ghost takes over, giving a sweet and just slightly apologetic smile, but whispers no actual ‘I’m sorry’s. He doesn’t say thank you when he returns to their shared inner mindscape. No bumps or brushes, or smiles or gestures. But Cairngorm feels that melting warmth in his chest nonetheless – even if he pretends not to feel it and snaps at the other who’s just about to say something.

_‘_ Don’t _. It’ll make it awkward.’_

 

**BLUE**

 

It’s impossible, as quoted above, to have privacy with somebody literally in your head.

At some point, Ghost is bound to find out.

_‘So, these threads that you mention… They are bound to our right pinky?’_ Ghost squints hard at his pinky for days after. (The _gossipers_ gossip harder about that. Cairngorm is always quick to fill Ghost’s head with his grouching, because even if they’re both aware they’re being talked about, it doesn’t make it any easier for Ghost.)

_‘Yes.’_

_‘Show me.’_

And as part of their new routine, Cairngorm would bristle but nudge up close against the silver of presence deep within, closing his eyes as he works hard to send a memory of the things he’s seeing. Ghost gasped the first time. Parts his lips in awe the second time. And the third and consequent times, he merely observes with wide eyes and a frozen presence, shuddering under the touch of Cairngorm’s soul.

_‘It’s beautiful.’_ And that. That, he whispers every single time.

They don’t talk about how Blue is undeniably the same Blue that they’re sharing. They never argued about which one of them White belongs to. Because it’s enough, just knowing that there’s someone out there for them, that _they’re there for each other._ The Rainy White Ring around their pinky is proof of that.

Ghost brushes the pads of his fingers over the image.

Cairngorm knows, even without looking, that he’s caressing the individual beads. The tiny, tiny beads – so small it’s mistakable for dust – that wound together, forming the threaded gems visible only to him.

Blue is Lapis Lazuli. But Cairngorm has known him as _Blue_ for so long, it feels wrong to call him otherwise.

“Think we’ll ever run into him?” Ghost smiles at him. “Blue?”

Cairngorm knows he’s somewhere in the school. Yellow’s ran his mouth off to them – talking about Lapis Lazuli locking himself in the depths of school again, ignoring the passing of days and _just_ – scribbling, his findings, Alexandrite’s findings, _everyone_ ’s findings, into books and folders and virtually just recording everything there is under the sky.

Cairngorm hopes Blue is not one great nerd, but really, he knows that’s a futile wish.

Ghost laughs at his thoughts, earning one great look of Ire and many strange looks from old gems with far too much time on their hands.

 .

Cairngorm knows it’s only a matter of time before Blue came to them. They both knew that.

“So, if I may ask,” Smiles the Blue _Blue_ Gem with gold sparkles and _how had neither of them ever noticed how blinding those gold are?_ Cairngorm still has his mind blown whilst looking up at the passing gem and _his and Ghost’s Blue are threaded into the right pinky of that Blue Gem and Oh god._

He bumps internally into the frozen Ghost. Ghost topples over without resisting.

“Who are you right now?”

An insensitive question, but with all the bluntness that nobody’s ever given them because everyone is too busy whispering behind their backs.

Lapis Lazuli – _Blue_ ’s smile is smooth even if sharp with the edges of intelligence.

Cairngorm somehow knows they’ll never have to worry about feeling lost (out at sea) again.

“I—” Ghost’s voice comes shuttered. Cairngorm leans against him inwardly.

_‘Good help you are there.’_

_‘You’re welcome.’_

Ghost glares, causing surprise to flicker across their Blue’s face, and then, he directs his huff down at his palms, anxiety playing on his presence deep within.

_‘Oh, what if I just ruined things for us?’ ‘Calm down.’ ‘Oh, like you could say anything.’_

Cairngorm gives his equivalent of a mental shrug. What can he say? He’s a spectator here, and in some ways, it’s far easier to play spectator than to get involved in _feelings._ Oh, the horrid things that means his Other Half will always remain an oversensitive _darling_ -

“I’m _not_ oversensitive or a darling!” Ghost yells.

Lapis Lazuli startles.

Then, Ghost lifts a shaky hand to his lips. _‘Oh my god. I’ve most definitely ruined things now.’_ Lapis’ face is unreadable, the smile erased without a trace left. Cairngorm shifts, hoping their Blue hasn’t been scared away by them. It’s not just one, but two who flinch when Lapis steps forward, leaning over them and – _‘Is it too late to drop myself in the pond?’_ – Lapis reaches out and snags their hand. – _‘I think it is.’_ He agrees.

“Interesting.” Lapis states, and all brain functions come to a stop. “It’s interesting – how there’s never been a documented case of two gems born conjoined. And both of you – you’re both _cute_ , entertaining gems.”

Lapis smiles. Tucks strands of gold-speckled blue behind his ear. They watch him, transfixed.

“If you don’t mind, would you join me in your free time?”

_‘What.’_

_‘I don’t think he might be in his right senses, Other Me…’_ Ghost starts warily.

_‘Sleep deprivation it is, definitely.’_

“The effects of duo-presence within a single body is worth studying, in itself. Except, it would of course be tactless of me to suggest using you as an experimental subject – especially given your clear sensitivity towards your circumstances-” Lapis flashes a smile at Ghost’s flush. Cairngorm snorts. “-So, would you join me in your free time? Just so I may observe how you live with your duo personalities?”

“Let me get this straight,” Cairngorm takes over, ignoring Ghost’s mimicry of a strangled, dying chicken. “You can’t outright call us an experiment, so you want us to pretend it’s a socializing session… just so you can _observe_ us, like test subjects?”

He’s a bit miffed at their Blue, unlike the shellshocked Ghost.

Lapis doesn’t even think about it. Just flashes them a huge, wide smile.

“That’s exactly what I mean, Ghost Quartz.” The simple use of the full name for identification stuns Cairngorm into silence.

Lapis straightens.

“It’s not that you’ve got any pressure to accept this. I simply meant that my library would be open to you, whenever you feel suffocated by the… _overexcited welcoming_ of the other gems.” Lapis folds his arms. “If anything, having one is better than having a crowd. With any luck, my studies will hopefully aid any future gems born with your constitution.” Lapis tilts his head, that elegant smile still on his face. “So, how about it? Will you accept?”

…It’s…too much to take at once.

“…We’ll think about it.”

The next day, they still show up at the library. Because strange or not, Lapis is the Blue they’ve been waiting eagerly to meet since a while back. Despite themselves, they agree they’re still hoping to find something in Lapis that’d identify him as _their_ Blue.

 .

The first time is spent in total silence, with Ghost awkwardly peering down at a book and Lapis casually keeping his gaze pinned to his work.

“…Aren’t you going to ask any questions?” Ghost asks finally, voice soft with weariness.

Lapis looks up.

“Not unless you want to be asked any questions.” Comes a line with a solemn look that’s filled with far more sensitivity than either of them has ever faced. A smile. “Besides, I prefer to draw my own conclusions from my observations.” Then, of course, Lapis ruins it with an intellectual smartass comment.

Ghost chokes down a protest that rises to his lips.

_‘But you’re not even observing us.’_

Cairngorm doesn’t deny that same lines he’s thinking, even as he keeps his mind on Lapis, wondering.

“I’d recommend reading the book to your left, if you’re fond of fantasy stories.” Quipped the very source of their troubles.

Ghost jumps. Cairngorm doesn’t fare any better. But Lapis doesn’t laugh even when Ghost is so clumsy, he drops the book. Instead, he jumps to his feet. Picks up the book, and presses it into their hands ( _so close, the Blue, Blue thread would be non-existent if not for the two knots on either of their pinkies._ )

“I really mean it when I said you can relax here, you know?”

Ghost stiffens. But Lapis only offers a fleeting glance, eyes dodging away a moment later. Somehow, Cairngorm observes, Lapis seems ever so slightly smaller before them, shoulders slumped in a defeat for a near nil moment that is quickly erased when he turns away.

“Don’t feel forced to be here. I’ll leave, if it offers any comfort.” And somehow, that line is said so pensively, it feels all the more _fucking sad._

It seems then that Ghost reaches at the same conclusion he does, because Ghost reaches out and loops his thumb and pointer finger around Lapis’ wrist. He shakes his head. ( _Because apparently, Lapis is considerate enough to truly want to leave them some time to themselves. Because Lapis is habitual liar loving to hide his awkward well intentions behind his intellect. Because Lapis is as lonely as them, even though he’s one instead of two._ )

“Stay.” Ghost whispers the word Cairngorm echoes deep inside. “Please.”

Lapis stares, for the longest moment. And he stays.

 .

“I can’t say I’m fond of how the crowd treats you.” Lapis confesses one day. His grip clenches ever so slightly on the edges of his book (not enough to crease because _“It’s a book.” _In Lapis’ own affronted words). “We each have our own unique traits. It is the core meaning behind why we’re carved different. I’m not fond –” Lapis’ lips are downturned. “-of how they discriminate against you. Against us, for traits that we should be proud of.”

Ah. Cairngorm turns sleepily in the background. So that’s why.

All of that in Lapis’ language translates to ‘I wanted you here, because I thought you’d understand’.

Ghost has allowed him to bear witness to a couple few of Euclase’s interactions with Lapis. Not the most pleasant, given how it’s just _Lapis_ to be curious about all things in existence, and Euclase appears to take extra precaution against Lapis for his simple nature.

Ghost pursues his lips and rests a hand on Lapis’.

“I never cared though, not about the others one bit.” That’s a lie, Cairngorm wants to point out. But who is he to stop him from comforting their Blue? Ghost smiles, amused. “It’s not a lie, really. It’s enough, just for me to have my Nasty Little Other Self with me. The fun times make it all worth having a voice in my head.”

Is it now? “It is.”

“But you,” Ghost peers at Lapis sadly. “You’re different from us. You’re one, instead of two.” Ghost chews his lip and finally, hesitantly reach out to settle one hand on his shoulder. “It must have been lonely, to be shoved into aside just because you’re smart. Even though you’re so _amazing_ too. They just don’t get it!” Ghost sulks.

Aaaah… and there he goes again. Rambling like a Lapis fanboy.

“It’s true, Nasty! He is smart!” That’s not his name. He reserves all right to not respond. “Hey!”

He’s surprised. They’re both surprised, when Lapis leans into them, resting heavy dangling locks on their shoulder.

“You’re cute.” Lapis makes a sound that makes them doubt their ears. Cairngorm wants to record that sound again. He mentally stores it so they could replay it over and over again. He’s backed wholeheartedly by Ghost. “You’re both cute!”

Lapis laughs again.

  

**WHITE**

 

White is Antarcticite, he’s convinced. White is the gem of Winter Duty – the Winter Soldier.

Cairngorm knows, because after some terrible coaxing ( _“I’ll give you five days free from my trash-talking.” “Too bad for you, I’m actually fond of your so-called trash-talk, Nasty.”_ ), Ghost had allowed him to stroll and track down the gem on the other end of the White thread. ~~(Cairngorm doesn’t want to talk about how he’s a bit miffed, a bit frustrated, that he’s got to ask permission to take control of a body that’s technically his too. He doesn’t want to break this nice equilibrium they’ve established.)~~

It led to Antarcticite’s tub.

Still, without paths being fated to cross, he doesn’t meet Antarcticite.

 .

It’s winter the day he’s shocked wide awake by a sudden tugging on his chest.

The world is disorientating. Blue is hanging everywhere. White looms over. He sees Bortz being a dangerous freak as always, crashing into the ground far too near to a near perpetually dead Padparadscha. But that’s not the focus, because - - _because - - because what?_

Cairngorm leaps to his feet. Ghost is silent at the back of his mind. He dashes, even whilst not knowing where he’s going. Just – he snags their scythe on the way. Races out _and out and out._

And, his heart plummets when he sees pieces of WHITE _WHITE WHITE NO_ being gathered up from the feet of lunarians – Antarcticite _NO._

“NO!” He snarls as he tosses his scythe, cutting cleaning through the few on the ground.

_No._

Pieces of Antarcticite crunches under his naked feet when he looks down. He’s still Phantom Quartz on the surface, Smoky Quartz deep within, and he’s still a hardness of seven and – _whywhywhy why must they be the hardest out of all the bonds they’ve got? Why must he break Antarcticite even further?_

No.

Cairngorm hisses at the cold rush of wind when he races and _leaps._ Because _how dare they take one of his. How DARE them?!_ He sweeps the scythe across. Slices through the central lunarian easily.

But that isn’t enough. Nothing is comparable against the fright he had, when he thought he felt Antarcticite dissipating and _never, ever again._ He butchers the lunarians, till they’re completely gone.

_Then,_ he lands. And he gathers the fine pieces of Antarcticite in his naked hands.

“Nononono…” Bits of him falls through the long sleeve Red Beryl had designed for Ghost.

Cairngorm tries to pull him all to him, choking at the white beads of Antarcticite that’s now visible, no longer a silvery long thread of _white._ Hooked around an empty gloved hand, there’s that mark of their bond, drawn around a limp pinky. Cairngorm chokes on another whimper.

“ _No_.”

 .

Cairngorm remembers seeing the threads of the other gems. He remembers, most clearly, the threads that Yellow carries on him – because some of them are the most beautiful he’s ever seen, even if some of them are _gone. Obsolete._

Because Padparadscha is always beautiful, just like the threads of wispy curls of padparadscha that are gorgeous even if they’re dull in the light. Because Rutile is depicted in a comical way, little round marbles of yellow and auburn looking painfully innocent in the glint of the light. And Pink Topaz somehow wraps around Yellow twice before trailing off to its owner – as if always offering comfort.

The rest of the threads hanging from Yellow’s pinky limply, _aimlessly_ , are _stones._ As in, literally.

They’re painted in, dark blue and scarlet red and pastel green – but that doesn’t change the fact that there are _stones_ , right where Sapphires, Rubies, and Green Diamonds are meant to be forming fine threads.

“Thank you, for saving me from there.” Antarcticite’s thanks comes awkward.

Cairngorm stands, limp.

“I’ll make sure to be more careful in the future.” He shouldn’t make promises he can’t keep, Cairngorm thinks. He shouldn’t – he shouldn’t have come and met Antarcticite, when it’s undeniable he’d only be stolen at some point in the future, guarding winter _all alone_.

But he won’t be alone, if Cairngorm’s here. He won’t be stolen, _maybe, definitely_ , if he’s here.

“Shut up.” Antarcticite pauses, eyes wide, startled and lost and – Cairngorm doesn’t _care_. “I’m joining you from now on.”

And that’s that.

 .

(Except, it isn’t.

_‘Nasty-’ ‘Shut up. It’s an arrangement that works for both of us. I get to make sure he’s safe, and you get to have Lapis to yourself for that one season I’m offed.’ ‘You know I don’t think that, Nasty.’ ‘You like him. I like him. You think that’s enough, right?’ ‘…Naturally.’ ‘Well, news check, Ghost, I’m not you, even if we’re two halves of the same coin.’ ‘…’ ‘I can’t – I have more than just Lapis and you and – …I can’t… if he breaks…’ ‘…I understand, Nasty.’_

A curl of a warm, constant presence up against him.

_‘I’ll set you free for winter. You’ll be on your own then. Be safe.’_

_‘…thank you.’_ He returns, slightly choked. The moving world of his buzzing aura pressed close to by that shimmering warmth conveying more than was possible in those words.)

 .

Antarcticite is a fuckton of problems bundled into one. Workaholism is just one.

“What is this?” Antarc- _fucking-innocent-and-sad-_ ticite says, looking blankly at the cards.

“Trump cards. Nobody’s ever taught you how to play?” Cairngorm feels like crying when Antarcticite shakes his head ‘no.’ Why is it that he always got the sad ones? Why can’t he have a happy bond mate, like Watermelon, for instance? But as usual, Cairngorm takes a deep breath and deals. “You’ve got no childhood. Come on, I’ll teach you how to play.”

And oh, let’s not forget Antarcticite’s freaking bad habit of chasing after his own pieces.

Cairngorm whacks Antarcticite over the head when he’s fixed, and ignoring the pain from their bond, fixes him back again later.

“Your life was filled with Sensei, so you could have lost a memory with him. I get it.” Cairngorm folds his arms. “But losing that is still better than, oh, I don’t know, _losing you_.”

Antarcticite flinches but narrows his eyes.

“My life’s not entirely about the school.” He replies tersely, back locked in that straight posture that’s the same noble winter soldier he’s managed to fool everyone he is. Cairngorm lifts his brow challengingly. “There’s _you_ for one. You’re now in my life.”

That catches Cairngorm off guard, enough for Antarcticite to exhale a puff of air.

“…But you could be losing memories of trump cards for all you know.” Cairngorm states weakly. “I could teach you again if you’re here.”

“…You’re right.” Antarcticite crumples a moment later under his stubborn gaze (even if the winter soldier’s was saying _‘Really?’_ ). “I should be looking forward to better times, rather than clinging onto the past.” Pensively, the noble gem dips his head at him. “I’m sorry for not taking care of myself.”

“You better be.”

It feels uncomfortably intimate even if they’re a feet away. Cairngorm finds himself reaching to Ghost out of habit and catches himself in time.

“…I don’t want to find you broken again anytime soon.”

 

**CYAN**

 

Lapis is stolen in the midst of his summer sleep – right before him, too, because Ghost was fighting to get him back whilst he’s sleeping in his head, Ghost was – _indubitably_ – screaming at him to wake, to help him get Lapis back with any ideas that even now, frankly, he isn’t sure he would have had.

Cairngorm surfaces months later, to Ghost – who’s dead on the inside, all pressed up close against him and sobbing tearlessly. No words come when he winds himself around that familiar, cold, warm presence, even though they both know he could feel everything the other feels, when pressed up to each other like this in the intimacy of their shared mental landscape.

Silent accusations are melded down by prickling regrets.

Bubbling understanding is stifled by mad rage, swallowed by just hollow, miserable emptiness thereafter.

Cairngorm takes over in the privacy that Lapis offered them in his library.

He sobs alongside Ghost on the inside, even if the action wrecks him and he’s breaking both Ghost and himself. Even if they’re both shattering, and he stares at the blue stones hanging limply from his pinky, cut off and just – _GONE._ And Cairngorm breaks down even more, chest hollow where there used to be filled by Lapis.

Lapis Lazuli.

Blue. BLUE. _BLUE._

Lapis Lazuli.

And Ghost Quartz.

 .

It happens during one emergency dash to aid Morga and Goshe.

Ghost is injured, an arm broken off. Cairngorm flips and butchers the lunarians like he did that winter day.

_‘You Little Monster’_ , Ghost takes to saying, alternating between fondness, and just flat, toneless, _nothing._ There’s nothing giving in his tone, but Cairngorm knows what he’s thinking. He knows what they’re both thinking.

If only he could be like that back there, when Ghost is screaming and flailing for help to salvage pieces of Lapis, maybe Ghost’s only bond mate beside Cairngorm could have remained. ~~(But he couldn’t sacrifice Antarcticite. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. They both know they know that, too.)~~

 .

Ghost allows him some time every day to just be with Lapis _and his remains_. Cairngorm is half-convinced it’s a punishment, even if he knows Ghost never truly thought of it that way, not till Ghost nestled up against him and realized what he’s thinking. Then there’s just a bit of vindictive action in putting Cairngorm with Lapis, even if there’s more regret and a silent _‘I hope you understand’_ accompanied by a brush of warmth against him.

(He does. He does completely, how Ghost feels. Because he feels like that too sometimes. If only he’s a bit stronger. If only he’s awake then. If only he tried to protect them all.

But he also understands that he’s Ghost’s last bond, that Ghost loves him, even though it hurts.)

It’s just another regular routine the day Cyan snaps into place.

Cairngorm’s eyes wrench wide open.

Slowly, shakily, he peers down at the Cyan that’s curled around his pinky, the beads like sparks of the rock candy he’s heard about from Watermelon who in turn heard from Sensei, twisting and curling in their own small little chain.

“…t-this…this can’t…” He gasps and drops his head.

No.

Not another bond mate.

Not when he doesn’t deserve another one.

Not when he failed to protect Lapis, and Ghost, and he’s still got so many to protect.

Cairngorm shakes his head and denies it’s happening. He clings onto Lapis’ head, because – it’d be so good if smart, intellectual Lapis is here to guide them, to put things in perspective, because Lapis’ so good at that. Because the world is still terrifying, like when he’s lost in murky waters, and he still needs Lapis to chase it away for him.

But Lapis isn’t here, because of him.

He practically smashes his face into the box.

That’s how Ghost finds him, when he wakes.

 .

Phosphophyllite. His name is Phosphophyllite.

Bonds. Bonds. Bonds all around.

Gold with Sensei. Rusty Red with Cinnabar. White _painfully_ White with Antarcticite. And Black with Cairngorm, tucked beneath the telling rainy white of Ghost. The colours fade half way into sparkling stars of Phosphophyllite. Cairngorm wishes he could tear these eyes out, because _if only_.

There’s also the blue stones of Lapis, _stones, not gems_ , that hang limply from his pinky, from Phosphophyllite’s colourful pinky, extending to nowhere.

_If only._

 .

Cairngorm takes a break from Winter Duty.

It’s a long break, because Cairngorm can’t risk it. He knows Ghost still hates Antarcticite for being who Cairngorm unknowingly chose. He pretends it’s Ghost’s fault he can’t face Antarcticite even though, _really_ , it’s because he can’t face him himself.

He can’t face up to the fact that he’s saved Antarcticite, that Antarcticite is worth saving, that _no, there isn’t a need to blame anyone and yes, he can hope that it’s really not his fault_ because really? Really?

It’s his fault.

It’s his fault too when the bond hurts and snaps in the middle of winter. Cairngorm doesn’t arrive in time, even though he had his scythe up the moment he felt that pull on his chest.

 .

“We shouldn’t continue to pity ourselves.” Ghost’s voice is soft in the air. “Look, Phos’ trying to pick himself up even though he has lesser time than we did. It’s about time we move on.”

But he can’t.

Not when the colours are so glaringly obvious on his hand, blue and white stones hanging limply from his pinky.

“You can.” Ghost insists. “You’re strong. I’ll show you. When the two of us have our efforts directed in the same place, we can do anything. It doesn’t have to be just for Lapis. We can do it for other people too, starting with Phos. We can do it for _us_.”

Cairngorm doesn’t want to reply.

“Oh, you nasty little monster.” Ghost sighs, exasperated. “Your pessimism is going to kill me someday.”

It does. It does, and then, Cairngorm’s breaking and shattering and trying to reach out even as he’s falling because – _Why isn’t he answering? Where is the warmth that’s been curled around him all this time? Why are fine Ghost Quartz fading to translucent stones on his pinky? WHYWHYWHYWHY—_

Oh, it must be Phosphophyllite’s fault.

Nothing good’s been happening since Phosphophyllite appeared. It must be due to him.

Except, Lapis has taught him prejudices get him nowhere. It’s true, that Phosphophyllite shouldn’t have dashed right into danger. But he shouldn’t have let Ghost go after Phosphophyllite. He should have pulled himself together. He shouldn’t have – he shouldn’t have – _This is all his fault._

 .

“Cairngorm!” Phosphophyllite calls, making a smile that he’s only ever seen afar. “Cairngorm! Everyone, together—”

“ _CAIRNGORM!_ ” They chime in unison, as though singing a song.

Cairngorm’s bewildered. Was this how Phosphophyllite was before all of this? Is this – Is this because he lost Antarcticite and Ghost? Those stones hanging from his pinky and that one single gold thread, gradually pulling itself apart by tangling itself in a knot – are those what made Phosphophyllite so different today?

For a moment, peering at Phosphophyllite, Cairngorm wishes things could be different.

If only Phosphophyllite had been born earlier, he could have protected Antarcticite in his stead.

If only he had went to Phosphophyllite the moment he’s born, and moved on, so Ghost doesn’t have to leave him with this gaping hole in him and his life.

…But things happen for a reason, and Cairngorm knows, as much as he regrets, what’s done is fixed in stone. All that’s left is to look back, to learn from his mistakes, and do a better care of taking care of his last remaining bond.

.

Watermelon gives them flower wraths.

Phosphophyllite’s smile is not wide and obnoxious, but the fragility of it – the cracks hidden in clear eyes and a tiny, smooth, brittle curve – it’s proof that Phosphophyllite is healing. Somewhere in between battles and hurt and constant griping at each other, somehow, they settle into a routine. _Somehow,_ they become a pair.

Standing side by side, the threads hanging from their fingers reflects black and cyan.

Cairngorm only prays that this moment will last.

 .

Giving up Lapis’ head hasn’t been a question at all.

The stones do not change, even if heads do.

 .

They arrive on the moon. To learn that all previous gems were ground to dust – it doesn’t surprise Cairngorm in the least.

It returns him hope, to know it’s possible to return gems of hardness seven (Ghost could be returned). It gives him hope, to know gems of hardness five are still salvageable if only requiring more time (Lapis, and all the words and lies said in between). It kills him, to know Antarcticite’s supposed to be given up on. That they’re supposed to _let go_ just because of a couple of words from one lunarian.

(Really? _Really?_ )

“Is it-” Cairngorm asks. Because Antarcticite matters so much more to Phosphophyllite than him. “-possible for you to attach a synthesized outer layer of Antarc onto me?”

Cairngorm furrows his brows in determination, even if he’s giving up his identity. This time, he will do it. He will finally, _finally_ protect the last bond he has.

“I will act like Antarc.”

He knows how. He’s seen Antarcticite with his own eyes. Worked and protected him (futilely).

“…I believe so, but… why go so far?” The lunarian asks.

Why…? Why? Cairngorm is stricken, because – _it’s only obvious, isn’t it?_ Phosphophyllite’s a bond mate. He’s someone precious to Cairngorm’s heart, even if he came at a bad time with all circumstances surrounding him terrible. Because surely, his bond mate must still be capable of smiling and laughing like he did with those other gems if he’s still here. Cairngorm just has to put him back together and protect him till the day he’s happy, _somehow_ –

But Cairngorm can’t answer with that. He can’t tell – can’t reveal, his sight, to uncertain elements. (Lapis taught him that, too.)

“He told me to do that.” Cairngorm lies. When asked who, he answers. “My former self.”

It’s not a lie.

It is a lie.

When the lunarian goes off a tangent and talks about how it’s because of his predecessor being in his eyes, Cairngorm feels like he’s walking on clouds, because – it’s nice, to think he’s still got a part of Ghost in him somewhere, _anywhere_ , even if the urge to be free has always been there, stifled somewhere under the very obvious reminder of their bond, hanging on their pinky. Then when the lunarian speaks – _as if he knows_ – of how his concern for Phosphophyllite is just Ghost projecting his will on him –

First, he felt pissed. Then, he felt like laughing.

“ _It’s not._ ” He interrupts the lunarian, tone even as he levels a gaze with the other. “It’s not, just because Ghost wanted me to protect him. It’s _more._ ”

A lifetime of bonds has taught him that.

Every single one he’s been bonded to thus far have been more than just _Rainy White, Blue, White, Cyan._ They’re _them_ and _more_ and – Cairngorm loves every single one of them, even Phosphophyllite – pesky little troublesome brat who’s grown on him, just like the way Ghost did. The bonds serve as an easy way to identify those he can understand easily, sure, but beyond that – it’s a way of identifying _family_.

Phosphophyllite just so happens to be the baby of the gang. He’s fortunate enough to be inheriting everything the others have left them.

Lapis taught him to read beneath the lines, because everyone’s similar in some way. Ghost taught him to be strong, to not crumble under a failure or two. And Antarc – he’s taught him –

Cairngorm’s breath hitches. His hands unintentionally ball up by his side.

( _Because isn’t he a hypocrite? Even though he taught Antarcticite to treasure himself? Even though he wanted Antarcticite to treasure himself… God, was that why Antarcticite gave him that sceptical look? Was his fighting style really that reckless back then?_ )

“It’s – _fine_ , if you don’t want to attach Antarc to me.” He exhales in a quick, sharp breath. “Forget this ever happened.”

He leaves, sharp clicks of his feet against cement.

It feels nice, to finally be doing what he preached – to let go of the past, and face the future, even if it’s not the ideal one that he’s been clinging onto since forever. Cairngorm’s grown tired of praying for that future anyways. (This time, he’ll carve his own.)

 .

“—and so, I heard you asked to be covered with Antarc last night?” The point is finally reached after tonnes of blabbering he’s got to endure. Phosphophyllite tends to be that way, like Lapis, when he’s got something he’s nervous about.

So, Phosphophyllite somehow wound up hearing of the little misadventure he had in the middle of the night.

Cairngorm’s swears to pull Cicada’s head off his frame, just so that blabbermouth can shut his mouth forever.

Cairngorm peers, at Phosphophyllite’s innocently smiling lips, eyes parted wide on purpose. And he turns away, feet clinking against the rough cement.

“It never happened.” He deadpans.

“Of course it never did.” Phosphophyllite’s indulging him.

“It didn’t!” He spins around.

…Only to be caught off guard, by the arms that are tossed around him, creating a true masterpiece of a hanging koala-Phosphophyllite dangling off his neck.

Cairngorm tenses. Frozen stiff. Ghost would so be laughing at him if he’s here. Phosphophyllite manages to make a laughing stock out of him wherever he goes, for some reason. It’s a real achievement.

There’s a sigh, followed by a nuzzle in his shoulder.

“I’m glad it never happened.” Phosphophyllite whispers, a smooth whisper in Lapis’ voice. His grasp tightens slightly, clinging. “I wouldn’t know what I’d do if it did. I mean, cute adorbs me sure wants Antarc back, but it wouldn’t be any different if Cairngorm’s the one gone instead of Antarc –”

Phosphophyllite blinks, realizing the way his words could be taken, and stammers to fix them.

“- I mean! It’s only good if both of you are here! Together with Ghost, too! You get what I mean?”

“…I don’t.” He lies, because he wants to hear it again.

“Oh, geez~ My Cairngorm’s so _stupid_. How should I put it in a way that- URK! That h-hurts…” Phosphophyllite hunches over, hugging his poor jabbed tummy, which Cairngorm really can’t give a damn about. “Call the doctor…please…”

“Only when you apologize.”

“Fine, fine~! I’ll apologize!”

Cairngorm knows now not to bat an eye when Phosphophyllite throws himself at him, burying his face into the soft night clothes on his tummy.

“…I’m sorry, Cairngorm. That I ever made you think you’re not enough. Because you are. And _more_. I don’t know what I ever did to possibly deserve you. Even though I wanted Antarc back _so much_ -” His light tone doesn’t hide the grief in his voice. “-I’m thankful that I have you. And I want you, by my side, till the end.”

Cairngorm… Cairngorm… doesn’t know what to say, to that.

He reaches up without thinking. Puts one hand in the navy gold-speckled locks. And Phosphophyllite lifts his head to aim one large smile at him.

“Did that speech make you cry?” He asks peppily.

Cairngorm tightens his grasp over the other’s skull till Phosphophyllite’s crying out in agony. Still, he tries his best to fight a rising smile even as irritated as he pretends to be. (“OWOWOWOW MY SKULL! You’re gonna shatter Lapis’ head, Cairn—!”)

**Author's Note:**

> This is me, waiting for kudos and comments. Always. Thank you all for always being so good to me.


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